better to rent the
chateau, place the property in the hands of a manager, and take himself
and his belongings back to Nancy, to his little room in the Rue
Stanislaus, where, at any rate, he could read, meditate, or make plans
for the future without being every moment tormented by miserable, petty
annoyances. His temper was becoming soured, his nerves were unstrung, and
his mind was so disturbed that he fancied he had none but enemies around
him. A cloudy melancholy seemed to invade his brain; he was seized with a
sudden fear that he was about to have an attack of persecution-phobia,
and began to feel his pulse and interrogate his sensations to see whether
he could detect any of the premonitory symptoms.

While he was immersing himself in this unwholesome atmosphere of
hypochondria, the sound of a door opening and shutting made him start; he
turned quickly around, saw a young woman approaching and smiling at him,
and at last recognized Reine Vincart.

She wore the crimped linen cap and the monk's hood in use among the
peasants of the richer class. Her wavy, brown hair, simply parted in
front, fell in rebellious curls from under the border of her cap, of
which the only decoration was a bow of black ribbon; the end floating
gracefully over her shoulders. The sharp November air had imparted a
delicate rose tint to her pale complexion, and additional vivacity to her
luminous, dark eyes.

"Good-morning, Monsieur de Buxieres," said she, in her clear, pleasantly
modulated voice; "I think you may remember me? It is not so long since we
saw each other at the farm."

"Mademoiselle Vincart!" exclaimed Julien. "Why, certainly I remember
you!"

He drew a chair toward the fire, and offered it to her. This charming
apparition of his cordial hostess at La Thuiliere evoked the one pleasant
remembrance in his mind since his arrival in Vivey. It shot, like a ray
of sunlight, across the heavy fog of despair which had enveloped the new
master of the chateau. It was, therefore, with real sincerity that he
repeated:

"I both know you and am delighted to see you. I ought to have called upon
you before now, to thank you for your kind hospitality, but I have had so
much to do, and," his face clouding over, "so many annoyances!"

"Really?" said she, softly, gazing pityingly at him; "you must not take
offence, but, it is easy to see you have been worried! Your features are
drawn and you have an anxious look. Is it that the air of Vivey does