the Abbe mechanically, roused from his gentle slumber
by the closing words of the Marquise.

* * * * *

The clock chimed ten, and her duties as hostess did not make the
Marquise forgetful of her duties as grandmother.

"Therese," she called, "it is your bed-time. It is very late, darling."

The child obediently left her game, said good night to the Baronne de
Vibray and President Bonnet, and last of all to the old priest, who gave
her a paternal embrace.

"Shall I see you at the seven o'clock mass, Therese?" he asked.

The child turned to the Marquise.

"Will you let me accompany Charles to the station to-morrow morning? I
will go to the eight o'clock mass on my way back."

The Marquise looked at Charles Rambert.

"Your father really is coming by the train that reaches Verrieres at
6.55?" and when he assented she hesitated a moment before replying to
Therese. "I think, dear, it would be better to let our young friend go
alone to meet his father."

But Charles Rambert put in his plea.

"Oh, I am sure my father would be delighted to see Therese with me when
he gets out of the train."

"Very well, then," the kind old lady said; "arrange it as you please.
But, Therese, before you go upstairs, tell our good steward, Dollon, to
give orders for the carriage to be ready by six o'clock. It is a long
way to the station."

Therese promised, and the two young people left the drawing-room.

"A pretty couple," remarked the Baronne de Vibray, adding with a
characteristic touch of malice, "you mean to make a match between them
some day, Marquise?"

The old lady threw up her hands protesting.

"What an idea! Why, Therese is not fifteen yet."

"Who is this Charles Rambert?" the Abbe asked. "I just caught sight of
him the day before yesterday with Dollon, and I puzzled my brains
wondering who he could be."

"I am not surprised," the Marquise laughed, "not surprised that you did
not succeed in finding out, for you do not know him. But you may perhaps
have heard me mention a M. Etienne Rambert, an old friend of mine, with
whom I had many a dance in the long ago. I had lost sight of him
completely until about two years ago, when I met him at a charity
function in Paris. The poor man has had a rather chequered life; twenty
years ago he married a woman who was perfectly charming, but who is, I
believe, very ill with a distressing malady: I am not even sure that she
is not insane. Quite late