as he did on the point; both her sisters, who had hastened to their
father's side, grouping themselves round him somewhat as in the portrait
exhibited in the window on the ground floor, and the old servant
who placed on the table in the little drawing-room a magnificent
tea-service, a relic of the former splendours of the household. Every
one called the girl "Bonne Maman" without her ever once having grown
tired of it, the influence of that sacred title touching the affection
of each one with a deference which flattered her and gave to her ideal
authority a singular gentleness of protection.

Whether or not it were by reason of this appellation of grandmother
which as a child he had learned to reverence, de Gery felt an
inexpressible attraction towards this young girl. It was not like the
sudden shock which he had received from that other, that emotional
agitation in which were mingled the desire to flee, to escape from a
possession and the persistent melancholy of the morrow of a festivity,
extinguished candles, the lost refrains of songs, perfumes vanished
into the night. In the presence of this young girl as she stood
superintending the family table, seeing if anything were wanting,
enveloping her children, her grandchildren, with the active tenderness
of her eyes, there came to him a longing to know her, to be counted
among her old friends, to confide to her things which he confessed only
to himself; and when she offered him his cup of tea without any of the
mincings of society or drawing-room affectations, he would have liked to
say with the rest a "Thank you, Bonne Maman," in which he would have put
all his heart.

Suddenly, a cheerful knock at the door made everybody start.

"Ah, here comes M. Andre. Elise, a cup quickly. Jaia, the little cakes."
At the same time, Mlle. Henriette, the third of M. Joyeuse's daughters,
who had inherited from her mother, _nee_ de Saint-Amand, a certain
instinct for society, observing the number of visitors who seemed likely
to crowd their rooms that evening, rushed to light the two candles on
the piano.

"My fifth act is finished," cried the newcomer as he entered, then he
stopped short. "Ah, pardon," and his face assumed a rather discomfited
expression in the presence of the stranger. M. Joyeuse introduced
them to each other: "M. Paul de Gery--M. Andre Maranne," not without
a certain solemnity. He remembered the receptions held formerly by
his wife, and the vases on the chimney