"Well, Henri?" said Anne, interested, in spite of himself, at a recital
at which he had determined to laugh.

"Oh! it is nearly finished, brother. Her servant whispered something to
her, and she lowered her veil; doubtless he told her I was there, but
she did not glance toward me. I saw her no more, and it seemed to me,
when the veil concealed her face, as if the sky had become suddenly
overshadowed--that it was no longer a living thing, but a shade escaped
from the tomb, which was gliding silently before me. She went out of the
garden, and I followed her; from time to time the man turned and saw me,
for I did not hide myself; I had still the old habits in my mind--the
old leaven in my heart."

"What do you mean, Henri?"

The young man smiled. "I mean, brother," said he, "that I have often
thought I loved before, and that all women, until now, have been for
me--women to whom I might offer my love."

"Oh! and what is this one?" said Anne, trying to recover his gayety,
which, in spite of himself, had been a little disturbed by his brother's
confidence.

"My brother," said Henri, seizing his hand in a fervent grasp, "as truly
as I live, I know not if she be a creature of this world or not."

"Holy Fathers! you would make me afraid, if a Joyeuse could know fear.
However, as she walks, weeps, and gives kisses, it seems to me to augur
well. But finish."

"There is little more. I followed her, and she did not try to escape or
lead me astray; she never seemed to think of it."

"Well, and where does she live?"

"By the side of the Bastille, Rue de Lesdiguieres. At the door, the
servant turned and saw me."

"You asked to speak to him?"

"You will think it ridiculous, but I dared not."

"You entered the house, then?"

"No, brother."

"Really, Henri, I am tempted to disown you this evening. But you
returned the next day?"

"Yes, but uselessly, and equally so to La Gypecienne."

"She had disappeared?"

"Like a shadow."

"But you inquired?"

"The street has few inhabitants, and no one knew her. I watched for the
servant, but he also had disappeared; however, a light which shone every
evening through the Venetian blinds consoled me by the knowledge that
she was still there. At last this disappeared; she had quitted the Rue
de Lesdiguieres, and no one knew where she had gone."

"But you found her again?"

"Chance did it. Listen: it is really strange. I was going along the Rue
de Bussy, a fortnight ago,