t and occupied almost the whole of the
woodwork, the rest of which was hung with pearl-gray stuff with lilac
figures upon it. A broad, low divan, covered with the same material as
the hanging, occupied the space in front of the window. It was the only
piece of furniture, and it seemed almost impossible to introduce even
one chair more.

The blinds were carefully closed, as well as the double curtains, and
they let in so little light that Octave had to accustom himself to the
obscurity before he could distinguish Madame de Bergenheim through the
muslin, curtains and the glass door. She was lying upon the divan,
with her head turned in his direction and a book in her hand. He first
thought her asleep, but soon noticed her gleaming eyes fastened upon the
ceiling.

"She is not asleep, she does not read, then she is thinking of me!" said
he to himself, by a logical deduction he believed incontestable.

After a moment's hesitation, seeing that the young woman remained
motionless, Gerfaut tried to turn the handle of the door as softly
as possible so as to make his entrance quietly. The bolt had just
noiselessly slipped in the lock when the drawing-room door suddenly
opened, a flood of light inundated the floor, and Aline appeared upon
the threshold, watering-pot in hand.

The young girl stopped an instant, for she thought her sister-in-law
was asleep; but, meeting in the shade Clemence's sparkling eyes, she
entered, saying in a fresh, silvery voice:

"All my flowers are doing well; I have come to water yours."

Madame de Bergenheim made no reply, but her eyebrows contracted slightly
as she watched the young girl kneel before a superb datura. This almost
imperceptible symptom, and the rather ill-humored look, foretold a
storm. A few drops of water falling upon the floor gave her the needed
pretext, and Gerfaut, as much in love as he was, could not help thinking
of the fable of the wolf and the lamb, when he heard the lady of his
thoughts exclaim, in an impatient tone:

"Let those flowers alone; they do not need to be watered. Do you not see
that you are wetting the floor?"

Aline turned around and looked at the scolder for a moment; then,
placing her watering-pot upon the floor, she darted toward the divan
like a kitten that has just received a blow from its mother's paw and
feels authorized to play with her. Madame de Bergenheim tried to rise at
this unexpected attack; but before she could sit up, she was thrown
back