t terror which remains with us a long time
after the death of some loved one has been announced by a telegram.
Now she could not remove the gummed band to open the little blue paper
without feeling her fingers tremble and her soul agitated, believing
that from those folds which it took so long to open would come a grief
that would cause her tears to flow afresh.

Annette, on the contrary, full of girlish curiosity, was delighted to
meet with the unknown mystery that comes to all of us at times. Her
heart, which life had just saddened for the first time, could anticipate
only something joyful from that black and ominous bag hanging from the
side of the mail-carrier, who saw so many emotions through the city
streets and the country lanes.

The Countess ceased to eat, concentrating her thoughts on the man who
was approaching, bearer of a few written words that might wound her as
if a knife had been thrust in her throat. The anguish of having known
that experience made her breathless, and she tried to guess what this
hurried message might be. About what? From whom? The thought of Olivier
flashed through her mind. Was he ill? Dead, perhaps, too!

The ten minutes she had to wait seemed interminable to her; then, when
she had torn open the despatch and recognized the name of her husband,
she read: "I telegraph to tell you that our friend Bertin leaves for
Roncieres on the one o'clock train. Send Phaeton station. Love."

"Well, mamma?" said Annette.

"Monsieur Olivier Bertin is coming to see us."

"Ah, how lucky! When?"

"Very soon."

"At four o'clock?"

"Yes."

"Oh, how kind he is!"

But the Countess had turned pale, for a new anxiety had lately troubled
her, and the sudden arrival of the painter seemed to her as painful a
menace as anything she might have been able to foresee.

"You will go to meet him with the carriage," she said to her daughter.

"And will you not come, too, mamma?"

"No, I will wait for you here."

"Why? That will hurt him."

"I do not feel very well."

"You wished to walk as far as Berville just now."

"Yes, but my breakfast has made me feel ill."

"You will feel better between now and the time to go."

"No, I am going up to my room. Let me know as soon as you arrive."

"Yes, mamma."

After giving orders that the phaeton should be ready at the proper hour,
and that a room be prepared, the Countess returned to her own room, and
shut herself in.

Up to this time her life had p