wever, when, just as his
lessons were to begin, he heard his mother propose to Cecile to go down
into the garden. What would she say when he was not there? He watched
them from the window; Cecile's slender figure and quiet movements were
those of a well-born, well-bred woman, while Ida, still handsome, but
loud in her style and costume, affected the manners of a young girl. For
the first time Jack felt his lessons to be very long, and only breathed
freely again when they were all together walking in the woods. But
on this day his mother's presence disturbed the harmony. She had no
comprehension of love, and saw it only as something utterly ridiculous.
But the worst of all was the sudden respect she entertained for _les
convenances_. She recalled the young people, bade them "not to wander
away so far, but to keep in sight," and then she looked at the doctor in
a significant way. Jack saw more than once that his mother grated on
the old doctor's nerves; but the forest was so lovely, Cecile so
affectionate, and the few words they ex-changed were so mingled with the
sweet clatter of birds and the humming of bees, that by degrees the poor
boy forgot his terrible companion. But Ida wished to make a sensation,
so they stopped at the forester's. Mere Archambauld was delighted to see
her old mistress, paid her many compliments, but asked not a question in
regard to D'Argenton, her keen personal sense telling her that she
had best not. But the sight of this good creature, for a long time so
intimately connected with their life at Aul-nettes, was too much for
Ida. Without waiting for the lunch so carefully prepared by Mother
Archambauld, she rose suddenly from her chair, as suddenly as if in
answer to a summons unheard by the others, and went swiftly through the
forest paths to her old home at Aulnettes.

The tower was more enshrouded than ever in its green foliage, and the
blinds were closely drawn. Ida stood in lonely silence, listening to the
tale told with silent eloquence by these gray stones. Then she broke
a branch from the clematis that threw its sprays over the wall, and
inhaled the breath of its starry white blossoms.

"What is it, dear mother?" said Jack, who had hastened to follow her.

"Ah!" she said, with rapidly falling tears, "you know I have so much
buried here!"

Indeed the house, in its melancholy silence and with the Latin
inscription over the door, resembled a tomb. She dried her eyes, but for
that evening