he same instant the
carriage stopped, and a young woman jumped lightly upon the road; she
turned around to address a few words to her traveling-companions, and
advanced alone toward Lucan. Not wishing to be outdone in politeness, he
alighted also, handed his horse to the groom who followed him, and started
with cheerful alacrity in the direction of the young woman, whom he did
not recognize, but who was evidently Julia. She was coming toward him
without haste, with a sliding walk, rocking gently her flexible figure. As
she drew near, she threw off her vail with a rapid motion of her hand, and
Lucan was enabled to find again upon that youthful face, in those large
and slightly clouded eyes, and the pure and stretching arch of the
eyebrows, some features of the child he had known.

When Julia's glance met that of Lucan, her pale complexion became suffused
with a purple blush.

He bowed very low to her, and with a smile full of affectionate grace:

"Welcome!" he said.

"Thank you, sir," said Julia, in a voice whose grave and melodious suavity
struck Lucan; "friends, are we not?" And she held out both her hands to
him with charming resolution.

He drew her gently to himself to kiss her; but thinking that he felt a
slight resistance in the suddenly stiffening arms of his step-daughter, he
contented himself with kissing her wrist just above her glove. Then
affecting to look at her with a polite admiration, which, however, was
perfectly sincere:

"I really feel," he said, laughingly, "like asking you to whom I have the
honor of speaking."

"You find me grown?" she said, showing her dazzling teeth.

"Surprisingly so," said Lucan; "most surprisingly. I understand Pierre
perfectly now."

"Poor Pierre!" said Julia; "he is so fond of you. Don't let us keep him
waiting any longer, if you please."

They started in the direction of the carriage, in front of which Monsieur
de Moras was awaiting them, and while walking side by side:

"What a lovely country!" resumed Julia. "And the sea quite near?"

"Quite near."

"We'll take a ride on horseback after breakfast, will we not?"

"Quite willingly; but you must be horribly fatigued, my dear child. Excuse
me! my dear--? By the way, how do you wish me to call you?"

"Call me madam. I was such a bad child!"

And she broke forth into a roll of that sudden, graceful, but somewhat
equivocal laughter that was habitual with her. Then raising her voice:

"You may come, Pierre; y