"Why! you don't mean to say that you are here already!" exclaimed Madame de Rueille admiringly. "I will wager anything that that slow coach of a Paul is not ready."

"Did you do all the commissions?" asked the marchioness.

"Yes, grandmamma, and I have a special one for you. The Juzencourts wished me to tell you that M. de Clagny is coming back to live at The Noriniere, and that he will come every year."

"Oh!" exclaimed Madame de Bracieux, looking very delighted, "I am glad to hear that. I never expected to see him come back here."

"Why?" asked Bijou.

"Well, because when he was here he had a great grief, just at an age when painful impressions can never be effaced."

"At what age is that?" asked Jean de Blaye, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

"Forty-eight. And when you are that age, you will not be as fond of ridiculing everything as you are now, my dear boy; and it won't be so long before you get there as you think either."

"So much the better," he answered, smiling; "that must be the ideal age--the age when one's heart is at rest."

"In some cases it is at rest before that age," said the marchioness slily, looking at her nephew.

Jean shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes, but it wakes up again, or, at least, it might wake up; one is not quite easy about it; but at forty-eight ..."

"Ah! that's your opinion. Well, it is twelve years ago now since my old friend Clagny was forty-eight. He must therefore be sixty at present, and I would wager anything that his heart has never been at rest--never. You understand me?" And then in a lower tone, so that Bijou, who was just talking to Bertrade, should not hear, she added: "Neither his heart nor he himself."

Jean laughed.

"Oh, well! he's a curiosity this friend of yours. Why does he not go about in a show? He would get some money."

"He has no need of money."

"He is rich, then?"

"Atrociously rich!"

"Well, but what's he got?"

"Sixteen thousand a year. Don't you consider that a fair amount?"

"Yes," he answered, without any sign of enthusiasm, "yes, of course, that's very fair--for anyone who has not got it dishonestly." And then, after a pause, he asked: "What was this great trouble that he had?"

"Oh, I'll tell you about it when Bijou is not here."

The young girl, however, could scarcely have heard what they were saying. She was joking with Pierrot, who had just come into the room.

She wanted to part his hair again, and Pierrot, a tall youth of seventeen, strong-looking, but overgrown, with long feet and hands, and a forehead covered with extraordinary b.u.mps, was trying to make himself short, so that the young girl might reach up to his bushy, colourless hair. He was bending his head, and looking straight before him, with a far-away expression in his eyes, evidently enjoying having his hair stroked by the skilful little hands.

Madame de Bracieux, seeing that Bijou was at a safe distance, ventured in a low voice to tell her nephew the details about the love-affair, which had in a way changed the whole life of her friend, M. de Clagny.

Suddenly Denyse came across to the marchioness.

"Grandmamma--I forgot--the Dubuissons cannot come to dinner on Thursday, but M. Dubuisson will bring Jeanne on Friday, and leave her with us for a week."

"Well, then, we shall only be eighteen to dinner."

"No, we shall be twenty all the same; because I saw the Tourvilles, and I gave them an invitation from you; I thought that--"

"You did quite right."

"Oh!" exclaimed Bertrade, "the Tourvilles and the Juzencourts at the same time! We shall be sure, then, of hearing their stories of William the Conqueror and Charles the Bold!"

"Oh, well!" exclaimed Bijou, laughing, "it will be much better like that, we shall have it altogether, once for all, at any rate."

Just as dinner was announced, M. de Rueille entered the room. He had an absent-minded look, and his eyes shone strangely. He took his seat silently at table, and did not talk during the meal.

III.

BIJOU, a.s.sisted by Pierrot, was handing the coffee round, when suddenly she darted off in pursuit of Paul de Rueille, who had just come out of the drawing-room, and was descending the steps which led on to the terrace.

"Stop, stop! Where are you going?" she called out.

"Oh, only for a stroll," he answered, without looking round, "to get a breath of air, if that is possible with this heat."

Bijou had already caught him up.

"Oh, no, what about the play?--You must come and work."

"My head aches."

"Work will take it away! You really must come, we have only three days."

"But I am not indispensable; you can do without me," said Rueille irritably.

"Oh, but you always do the writing."

"From dictation; it is not necessary to be very clever for that."

"Yes it is; and then, too, we are used to you."

She was on the step above him, and, bending forward, she put her arms round his neck, and said in a coaxing tone:

"Paul, dear, come now, just to please me, you would be so nice, so very nice!"

M. de Rueille, turning abruptly, unclasped the soft arms, which encircled his neck and rested against his face.