eginners in the writing of drama. But Paul was careful
not to refer to his own intervention. As for the other event, the one of
which nothing was said, on account of the children, he guessed it easily
by the trembling greeting of Maranne, whose fair mane was standing
straight up over his forehead by reason of the poet's two hands having
been pushed through it so many times, a thing he always did in his
moments of joy, by the slightly embarrassed demeanour of Elise, by the
triumphant airs of M. Joyeuse, who was standing very erect in his new
summer clothes, with all the happiness of his children written on his
face.

Bonne Maman alone preserved her usual peaceful air; but one noticed,
in the eager alacrity with which she forestalled her sister's wants, a
certain attention still more tender than before, an anxiety to make her
look pretty. And it was delicious to watch the girl of twenty as she
busied herself about the adornment of others, without envy, without
regret, with something of the gentle renunciation of a mother welcoming
the young love of her daughter in memory of a happiness gone by. Paul
saw this; he was the only one who did see it; but while admiring Aline,
he asked himself sadly if in that maternal heart there would ever be
place for other affections, for preoccupations outside the tranquil and
bright circle wherein Bonne Maman presided so prettily over the evening
work.

Love is, as one knows, a poor blind creature, deprived of hearing
and speech, and only led by presentiments, divinations, the nervous
faculties of a sick man. It is pitiable indeed to see him wandering,
feeling his way, constantly making false steps, passing his hands over
the supports by which he guides himself with the distrustful awkwardness
of the infirm. At the very moment when Paul was doubting Aline's
sensibility, in announcing to his friends that he was about to start on
a journey which would occupy several days, perhaps several weeks, did
not remark the girl's sudden paleness, did not hear the distressed cry
that escaped her lips:

"You are going away?"

He was going away, going to Tunis, very much troubled at leaving his
poor Nabob in the midst of the pack of furious wolves that surrounded
him. Mora's protection, however, gave him some reassurance; and then,
the journey in question was absolutely necessary.

"And the Territorial?" asked the old accountant, ever returning to the
subject in his mind. "How are things standing t