ing in there! In the first place, I would be afraid of annoying my
daughter, and besides, that would be entirely out of my character."

"How old is Mademoiselle Julia?" inquired Lucan, who retained under these
painful circumstances his quiet courtesy.

"Why, she is almost fifteen, and I'm not sorry for it, by the way, for,
_entre nous_, we may reasonably hope to get honestly rid of her within a
year or two. Oh! she will have no trouble in getting married, no trouble
whatever, you may be sure. In the first place she is rich, and then, after
all, she is a pretty monster, there is no gainsaying that, and there is no
lack of men who admire that style."

Clotilde joined them at last. Whatever might have been her inward emotion,
she appeared calm, having nothing theatrical in her ways. She replied
simply, in a low and gentle voice, to her mother's feverish questions; she
remained convinced that this misfortune would not have happened, if she
could have herself informed Julia, with some precautions, of the event
which chance had abruptly revealed to her. Addressing then a sad smile to
Monsieur de Lucan:

"These family difficulties, sir," she said to him, "could not have formed
a part of your anticipations, and I should deem it quite natural were they
to lead to some modification of your plans.":

An expressive anxiety became depicted upon Lucan's features. "If you ask
me to restore to you your freedom," he said, "I cannot but comply; if it
is your delicacy alone that has spoken, I beg to assure you that you are
still dearer to me since I have seen you suffer on my account, and suffer
with so much dignity."

She held out her hand, which he seized, bowing low at the same time.

"I shall love your daughter so much," he said, "that she will forgive me."

"Yes, I hope so," said Clotilde; "nevertheless, she wishes to enter a
convent for a few months, and I have consented."

Her voice trembled and her eyes became moist.

"Excuse me, sir," she added; "I have no right as yet to make you
participate to such an extent in my sorrows. May I beg of you to leave me
alone with my mother?"

Lucan murmured a few words of respect, and withdrew. It was quite true, as
he had said, that Clotilde was dearer to him than ever. Nothing had
inspired him with such a lofty idea of the moral worth of that woman as
her attitude during that trying evening. Stricken in the midst of her
flight of happiness, she had fallen without a cry, without a gr