"Dear me, uncle! all this has very little interest for monsieur. What is the use of giving him all these details?"

"Anything that concerns you, mademoiselle, cannot fail to interest me."

Caroline turned her face away. Her uncle continued:

"Yes, my dear girl, you are not well; it is of no use for you to try to conceal it, for anybody can see it; and this solemn, melancholy expression which has taken the place of your former gayety--for you have lost all your gayety and----"

"Why, you are mistaken, uncle; I am just the same as always."

"Well, you insisted on coming here for your health--at all events you told me so; and when you insist upon a thing--you know, my dear Dalbreuse, it's just as it was when she made us go to drive at Mont-d'Or--it has to be done on the instant. And so, inside of twenty-four hours, we came, we saw, and we hired a house! And we must needs take possession of it at once."

"It was because I was bored to death in Paris; and then I--I did not know this neighborhood----"

"Well, I know it; but I am very fond of it. Dugazon had a country house at Saint-Mande! I will show it to you when we return. We used to come here to have little supper parties and theatricals, and to enjoy ourselves. I played _L'Avocat Patelin_, and Pet.i.t-Jean in _Les Plaideurs_; and by the way, in _Les Plaideurs_, I played a wicked trick!

You know, when----"

"But we are detaining monsieur, uncle; we are taking his time, perhaps!"

"Oh! by no means, mademoiselle; I was just going back to Saint-Mande."

"We are going back there too; we will go together. As I was saying, it was in _Les Plaideurs_. In the third act, you know, some little dogs are brought on. Dugazon had said to me: 'Will you undertake to provide some little dogs?' I already had my plan in my head, so I said: 'Yes, I will.' Very good. The performance began and the moment came when the unfortunate orphans are called for. I brought on a large open basket.

Guess what came out of it: a dozen mice, which I had concealed inside and which instantly ran about all over the stage, and jumped down into the orchestra; and the men laughed and the women shrieked, for everyone of them thought that she had a mouse under her skirt! I held my sides with laughter! After the play, those ladies said that I was a monster!

That affair was worth three conquests to me!"

Monsieur Roquencourt chattered on, and in due time we reached the village. Caroline had held Eugene's hand all the way, and had talked frequently with my daughter.

"Here is our hermitage," said Monsieur Roquencourt, stopping in front of a pretty house within two gun shots of Ernest's. "I trust that you will come to see us, Monsieur Dalbreuse. In the country one must be neighborly,--isn't that so, niece?"

"If monsieur chooses to give us that pleasure, if he would bring his children to see us, I should be delighted to see them again.--Would you like to come, my dear love?"

"Yes, madame."

"And you, my little man? you must like sweeties and I always have some."

Eugene replied with great solemnity that he would like to come to see the sweeties. I thanked her for the children and took my leave, promising to bring them the next day.

So Caroline wished to see me again; her fiery wrath against me was allayed; doubtless it was because the sentiment that had given birth to that wrath had also vanished. But why had she lost her former playful humor? Upon my word, I was very conceited to think that it had anything to do with me. Might not Mademoiselle Derbin have some heartache, or some secret, with which I was absolutely unconnected? I would have been glad to know if she had seen Madame Blemont again before leaving Mont-d'Or. However, I was not sorry for the meeting. When Ernest was at work, it was impossible to talk with him; and his wife was constantly busy with her children and with her household cares. So I thought that it would be pleasant to go sometimes to Monsieur Roquencourt's for a chat.

At dinner I informed my hosts of our meeting.

"If they are pleasant people, ask them to come to see us," said Ernest.

I noticed that his wife did not second that invitation. I had said that Caroline was lovely, and wives sometimes dread the visit of a lovely person; Marguerite was a wife now.

"My friend," she said, "if they are people with twenty-five thousand francs a year and a carriage, I shall never dare to receive them."

"Why not, pray, my dear love? I am an author, and genius goes before wealth. Isn't that so, Henri?"

"It ought to be so, at all events."

"But, my dear, I am not an author, I have no genius----"

"That doesn't follow, my dear love; one is often found without the other."

"At all events, I shall not dare, or I shall not be able--you yourself say that we must not make acquaintances which will entail expense."

It seemed to me that Marguerite was getting mixed up; I fancied that I could see her making signals to her husband; but he was trying to compose the concluding lines of a quatrain, and was not listening to Marguerite. I comforted the little woman by telling her that she was under no obligation to receive Monsieur Roquencourt and his niece.

"But you will go to see them?" she asked.

"Yes, I don't see what should prevent me."

"No, of course not. But you see, according to what I have heard of this young lady, who does not choose to marry, I have an idea that she is a flirt."

"Even if that were so, so long as her company is agreeable, I do not see that I have anything to fear."

Madame Ernest said no more; I saw plainly that she was not pleased with her new neighbor, and I could not imagine the reason; I did not propose that that should prevent me from going to see the new arrivals.

The next day I took my children to Monsieur Roquencourt's house. I found the uncle walking in his garden, with several people from the neighborhood. Rich folk soon become popular; the neighbors vie with one another in becoming intimate with people who own a carriage. Monsieur Roquencourt was telling his new acquaintances about a scene from _Monsieur de Crac_; he took my son and daughter by the hand, and offered to show them his garden and to let them taste his peaches. I let them go and went into the house to pay my respects to Caroline. I heard the notes of a piano. A piano! how many things that instrument recalled to my mind! Those chords caused me a sharp pang now. I remembered that Mademoiselle Derbin had told me that she played the piano. I strove to overcome my emotions, and I entered the salon where Caroline was. I listened to her for some time without speaking; I cannot describe my sensations. She stopped at last and I approached her.

"Were you there?" she asked me.

"Yes, I have been listening to you."

"Didn't you bring your children?"

"I beg pardon, they are with your uncle."

"Your children are lovely, and I congratulate you, monsieur, upon having them with you. It is a proof that your wife has forgiven your wrongdoing, since she entrusts to you her dearest treasures. That leads me to think that before long she herself----"

"Did you see her again before leaving Mont-d'Or, mademoiselle?"

"No, monsieur; she left the hotel where we were staying, on the day after you. Don't you know where she is now?"

"No, mademoiselle."

"Upon my word, monsieur, I utterly fail to understand your conduct. You seem to love, to be devoted to your children, and you abandon their suffering, unhappy mother! If I had never seen you, and anybody had told me about you, I should have imagined you as hideous physically as morally; but when one knows you, one cannot think that."

Caroline smiled and I held my peace; that was the best course that I could pursue when that subject was broached. Henriette and Eugene came in from the garden. Caroline ran to them and embraced them and lavished toys and bonbons upon them; then, as I still remained silent, she sat down at the piano again and allowed her fingers to run over the keys for a few moments. Eugene was sitting in a corner, engrossed by his bonbons; Henriette was gazing in admiration at a lovely doll which had just been given her; but I noticed that, at the first sound from the piano, she stopped playing and listened. I listened too, for it seemed to me that it was Eugenie to whom I was listening; there were the same talent and the same expression. Soon my illusion was intensified, for Mademoiselle Derbin, after a brilliant prelude, began a tune which I recognized: it was Eugenie's favorite. I was convinced that it was Eugenie who was playing, as in the early days of our married life. I was roused from that illusion by sobs; I looked up and saw that my daughter was sobbing bitterly and that the doll had fallen from her hands. I ran to Henriette, and Caroline did the same.

"What is the matter with you, my dear child?" I asked, taking her in my arms. "Why are you crying?"

"Oh! papa, it was because--because I thought that it was mamma playing!"

Poor child! I pressed her to my heart and I hid in her hair the tears which fell from my eyes.

Caroline was still standing before us, and I heard her say in an undertone: