This last explanation not only gives a true presentation of the
personages of this drama, and a serious meaning even to its petty
details, but it also throws a vivid light upon the scene where so many
social interests are now marshalling.

CHAPTER X. THE SADNESS OF A HAPPY WOMAN

At the moment when the general was getting into his caleche to go to the
Prefecture, the countess and the two gentlemen reached the gate of the
Avonne, where, for the last eighteen months, Michaud and his wife Olympe
had made their home.

Whose remembered the pavilion in the state in which we lately described
it would have supposed it had been rebuilt. The bricks fallen or broken
by time, and the cement lacking to their edges, were replaced; the slate
roof had been cleaned, and the effect of the white balustrade against
its bluish background restored the gay character of the architecture.
The approaches to the building, formerly choked up and sandy, were now
cared for by the man whose duty it was to keep the park roadways
in order. The poultry-yard, stables, and cow-shed, relegated to the
buildings near the pheasantry and hidden by clumps of trees, instead
of afflicting the eye with their foul details, now blended those soft
murmurs and cooings and the sound of flapping wings, which are among
the most delightful accompaniments of Nature's eternal harmony, with the
peculiar rustling sounds of the forest. The whole scene possessed the
double charm of a natural, untouched forest and the elegance of an
English park. The surroundings of the pavilion, in keeping with its
own exterior, presented a certain noble, dignified, and cordial effect;
while the hand of a young and happy woman gave to its interior a
very different look from what it wore under the coarse neglect of
Courtecuisse.

Just now the rich season of the year was putting forth its natural
splendors. The perfume of the flowerbeds blended with the wild odor of
the woods; and the meadows near by, where the grass had been lately cut,
sent up the fragrance of new-mown hay.

When the countess and her guests reached the end of one of the winding
paths which led to the pavilion, they saw Madame Michaud, sitting in the
open air before the door, employed in making a baby's garment. The young
woman thus placed, thus employed, added the human charm that was needed
to complete the scene,--a charm so touching in its actuality that
painters have committed the error of endeavoring to conv