lings. As she
went, it struck her that the gardener had been unusually careful to rake
the sand along the walk which had been neglected for some little time.
As she stood under her daughter's windows, the shutters were hastily
closed.

"Moina, is it you?" she asked.

No answer.

The Marquise went on into the house.

"Mme. la Comtesse is in the little drawing-room," said the maid, when
the Marquise asked whether Mme. de Saint-Hereen had finished dressing.

Mme. d'Aiglemont hurried to the little drawing-room; her heart was too
full, her brain too busy to notice matters so slight; but there on the
sofa sat the Countess in her loose morning-gown, her hair in disorder
under the cap tossed carelessly on he head, her feet thrust into
slippers. The key of her bedroom hung at her girdle. Her face, aglow
with color, bore traces of almost stormy thought.

"What makes people come in!" she cried, crossly. "Oh! it is you,
mother," she interrupted herself, with a preoccupied look.

"Yes, child; it is your mother----"

Something in her tone turned those words into an outpouring of the
heart, the cry of some deep inward feeling, only to be described by the
word "holy." So thoroughly in truth had she rehabilitated the sacred
character of a mother, that her daughter was impressed, and turned
towards her, with something of awe, uneasiness, and remorse in her
manner. The room was the furthest of a suite, and safe from indiscreet
intrusion, for no one could enter it without giving warning of approach
through the previous apartments. The Marquise closed the door.

"It is my duty, my child, to warn you in one of the most serious crises
in the lives of us women; you have perhaps reached it unconsciously, and
I am come to speak to you as a friend rather than as a mother. When you
married, you acquired freedom of action; you are only accountable to
your husband now; but I asserted my authority so little (perhaps I was
wrong), that I think I have a right to expect you to listen to me, for
once at least, in a critical position when you must need counsel. Bear
in mind, Moina that you are married to a man of high ability, a man of
whom you may well be proud, a man who--"

"I know what you are going to say, mother!" Moina broke in pettishly. "I
am to be lectured about Alfred--"

"Moina," the Marquise said gravely, as she struggled with her tears,
"you would not guess at once if you did not feel--"

"What?" asked Moina, almost haughtily.