departure the
other guests returned to Limoges, less disappointed than distressed; for
all those whom Grossetete had brought with him adored Veronique. They
were lost in conjecture as to what might have caused this mysterious
disaster.

One evening, two days after the departure of the company, Aline brought
Catherine to Madame Graslin's apartment. La Farrabesche stopped short,
horrified at the change so suddenly wrought in her mistress, whose face
seemed to her almost distorted.

"Good God, madame!" she cried, "what harm that girl has done! If we had
only foreseen it, Farrabesche and I, we would never have taken her
in. She has just heard that madame is ill, and sends me to tell Madame
Sauviat she wants to speak to her."

"Here!" cried Veronique. "Where is she?"

"My husband took her to the chalet."

"Very good," said Madame Graslin; "tell Farrabesche to go elsewhere.
Inform that lady that my mother will go to her; tell her to expect the
visit."

As soon as it was dark Veronique, leaning on her mother's arm, walked
slowly through the park to the chalet. The moon was shining with all its
brilliancy, the air was soft, and the two women, visibly affected, found
encouragement, of a sort, in the things of nature. The mother stopped
now and then, to rest her daughter, whose sufferings were poignant, so
that it was well-nigh midnight before they reached the path that goes
down from the woods to the sloping meadow where the silvery roof of the
chalet shone. The moonlight gave to the surface of the quiet water, the
tint of pearls. The little noises of the night, echoing in the silence,
made softest harmony. Veronique sat down on the bench of the chalet,
amid this beauteous scene of the starry night. The murmur of two voices
and the footfall of two persons still at a distance on the sandy
shore were brought by the water, which sometimes, when all is still,
reproduces sounds as faithfully as it reflects objects on the surface.
Veronique recognized at once the exquisite voice of the rector, and the
rustle of his cassock, also the movement of some silken stuff that was
probably the material of a woman's gown.

"Let us go in," she said to her mother.

Madame Sauviat and her daughter sat down on a crib in the lower room,
which was intended for a stable.

"My child," they heard the rector saying, "I do not blame you,--you are
quite excusable; but your return may be the cause of irreparable evil;
she is the soul of this reg