ay than by leaving the room. If you
can bring Mr. Grosse to his senses, inform him that I will receive his
apologies and explanations in writing." Pronouncing these lofty words
with her severest emphasis, Miss Batchford rose another inch, and sailed
majestically out of the room.

Grosse took no notice of the offended lady: he only put his hands in his
pockets, and looked out of window once more. As the door closed, Oscar
left the corner in which he had seated himself, not over-graciously, when
we entered the room.

"Am I wanted here?" he asked.

Grosse was on the point of answering the question even less amiably than
it had been put--when I stopped him by a look. "I want to speak to you,"
I whispered in his ear. He nodded, and, turning sharply to Oscar, put
this question to him:

"Are you living in the house?"

"I am staying at the hotel at the corner."

"Go to the hotel, and wait there till I come to you."

Greatly to my surprise, Oscar submitted to be treated in this peremptory
manner. He took his leave of me silently, and left the room. Grosse drew
a chair close to mine, and sat down by me in a comforting confidential
fatherly way.

"Now my goot-girls," he said. "What have you been fretting yourself about
since I was last in this house? Open it all, if you please, to Papa
Grosse. Come begin-begin!"

I suppose he had exhausted his ill-temper on my aunt and Oscar. He said
those words--more than kindly--almost tenderly. His fierce eyes seemed to
soften behind his spectacles; he took my hand and patted it to encourage
me.

There are some things written in these pages of mine which it was, of
course, impossible for me to confide to him. With those necessary
reservations--and without entering on the painful subject of my altered
relations with Madame Pratolungo--I owned quite frankly how sadly changed
I felt myself to be towards Oscar, and how much less happy I was with
him, in consequence of the change. "I am not ill as you suppose," I
explained. "I am only disappointed in myself, and a little downhearted
when I think of the future." Having opened it to him in this way, I
thought it time to put the question which I had determined to ask when I
next saw him.

"The restoration of my sight," I said, "has made a new being of me. In
gaining the sense of seeing, have I lost the sense of feeling which I had
when I was blind? I want to know if it will come back when I have got
used to the novelty of my position? I