re.

Gerande was eighteen years of age. Her oval face recalled that of
the artless Madonnas whom veneration still displays at the street
corners of the antique towns of Brittany. Her eyes betrayed an
infinite simplicity. One would love her as the sweetest
realization of a poet's dream. Her apparel was of modest colours,
and the white linen which was folded about her shoulders had the
tint and perfume peculiar to the linen of the church. She led a
mystical existence in Geneva, which had not as yet been delivered
over to the dryness of Calvinism.

While, night and morning, she read her Latin prayers in her
iron-clasped missal, Gerande had also discovered a hidden sentiment in
Aubert Thun's heart, and comprehended what a profound devotion
the young workman had for her. Indeed, the whole world in his
eyes was condensed into this old clockmaker's house, and he
passed all his time near the young girl, when he left her
father's workshop, after his work was over.

Old Scholastique saw all this, but said nothing. Her loquacity
exhausted itself in preference on the evils of the times, and the
little worries of the household. Nobody tried to stop its course.
It was with her as with the musical snuff-boxes which they made
at Geneva; once wound up, you must break them before you will
prevent their playing all their airs through.

Finding Gerande absorbed in a melancholy silence, Scholastique
left her old wooden chair, fixed a taper on the end of a
candlestick, lit it, and placed it near a small waxen Virgin,
sheltered in her niche of stone. It was the family custom to
kneel before this protecting Madonna of the domestic hearth, and
to beg her kindly watchfulness during the coming night; but on
this evening Gerande remained silent in her seat.

"Well, well, dear demoiselle," said the astonished Scholastique,
"supper is over, and it is time to go to bed. Why do you tire your
eyes by sitting up late? Ah, Holy Virgin! It's much better to
sleep, and to get a little comfort from happy dreams! In these
detestable times in which we live, who can promise herself a
fortunate day?"

"Ought we not to send for a doctor for my father?" asked Gerande.

"A doctor!" cried the old domestic. "Has Master Zacharius ever
listened to their fancies and pompous sayings? He might accept
medicines for the watches, but not for the body!"

"What shall we do?" murmured Gerande. "Has he gone to work, or to
rest?"

"Gerande," answered Aubert softly,