ittle as possible, and
was guarded in making reply to any letter, especially to such a
communication as this.

When he left the house the next morning, on his way to attend to
military duties, he learned that his sister had gone away early on an
excursion to one of the suburbs, and that she would not return until
evening. As the Duchess was the only person who had been initiated into
the mystery surrounding Zibeline on the subject of the building of the
Orphan Asylum, it was evident that she had gone to take her place in the
directing of the work.

In the afternoon Henri called to inquire for the invalid, and was
received by the Chevalier de Sainte-Foy. She had had a quiet night; a
little fever had appeared toward morning, and, above all, an extreme
weakness, requiring absolute quiet and freedom from any excitement. On
an open register in the reception-room were inscribed the names of all
those persons who had called to express their interest in Mademoiselle
de Vermont: Constantin Lenaieff, the Lisieux, the Nointels, Edmond
Delorme, the Baron de Samoreau, and others. Only the Desvanneaux had
shown no sign of life. Their Christian charity did not extend so far as
that.

Henri added his name to the list, and for several days he returned each
morning to inscribe it anew, feeling certain that, as soon as Valentine
was able to be placed half-reclining on a couch, she would give orders
that he should be admitted to her presence. But nothing of the kind
occurred.

On the evening of the fifth day after the accident, the Duchess informed
her brother that their young friend had been taken to the country, where
it was thought a complete cure would sooner be effected.

This hasty departure, made without any preliminary message, caused Henri
to feel the liveliest disappointment.

Had he deceived himself, then? Was it, after all, only by chance
that she had so tenderly pronounced his name, and had that familiar
appellative only been drawn from her involuntarily because of her
surprise at beholding his unexpected presence at her bedside?

Regarding the matter from this point of view, the whole romance that he
had constructed on a fragile foundation had really never existed save in
his own imagination!

At this thought his self-esteem suffered cruelly. He felt a natural
impulse to spring into a carriage and drive to the dwelling of
Eugenie Gontier, and there to seek forgetfulness. But he felt that his
bitterness would make i