opportunity of observing a waiting-maid, who sat with her back to the
horses holding a little girl, with a somewhat dreamy look, upon her
knee. The child's mother lay back in the carriage; she looked like
a dying woman sent out into the country air by her doctors as a last
resource. Village politicians were by no means pleased to see the
young, delicate, downcast face; they had hoped that the new arrival at
Saint-Lange would bring some life and stir into the neighborhood,
and clearly any sort of stir or movement must be distasteful to the
suffering invalid in the traveling carriage.

That evening, when the notables of Saint-Lange were drinking in the
private room of the wineshop, the longest head among them declared that
such depression could admit of but one construction--the Marquise
was ruined. His lordship the Marquis was away in Spain with the Duc
d'Angouleme (so they said in the papers), and beyond a doubt her
ladyship had come to Saint-Lange to retrench after a run of ill-luck on
the Bourse. The Marquis was one of the greatest gamblers on the face of
the globe. Perhaps the estate would be cut up and sold in little lots.
There would be some good strokes of business to be made in that case,
and it behooved everybody to count up his cash, unearth his savings
and to see how he stood, so as to secure his share of the spoil of
Saint-Lange.

So fair did this future seem, that the village worthies, dying to know
whether it was founded on fact, began to think of ways of getting at the
truth through the servants at the chateau. None of these, however, could
throw any light on the calamity which had brought their mistress into
the country at the beginning of winter, and to the old chateau of
Saint-Lange of all places, when she might have taken her choice of
cheerful country-houses famous for their beautiful gardens.

His worship the mayor called to pay his respects; but he did not see the
lady. Then the land-steward tried with no better success.

Madame la Marquise kept her room, only leaving it, while it was set
in order, for the small adjoining drawing-room, where she dined; if,
indeed, to sit down to a table, to look with disgust at the dishes, and
take the precise amount of nourishment required to prevent death from
sheer starvation, can be called dining. The meal over, she returned
at once to the old-fashioned low chair, in which she had sat since the
morning, in the embrasure of the one window that lighted her roo