the
shadow behind them.

Taken by surprise, and with a choking sensation in his throat, Georges
trembled so that he could not reply. Sidonie, on the other hand, rose
with the utmost coolness, and said as she shook out her skirt:

"The glow-worms. See how many of them there are tonight. And how they
sparkle."

Her eyes also sparkled with extraordinary brilliancy.

"The storm makes them, I suppose," murmured Georges, still trembling.

The storm was indeed near. At brief intervals great clouds of leaves and
dust whirled from one end of the avenue to the other. They walked a few
steps farther, then all three returned to the house. The young women took
their work, Georges tried to read a newspaper, while Madame Fromont
polished her rings and M. Gardinois and his son-in-law played billiards
in the adjoining room.

How long that evening seemed to Sidonie! She had but one wish, to be
alone-alone with her thoughts.

But, in the silence of her little bedroom, when she had put out her
light, which interferes with dreams by casting too bright an illumination
upon reality, what schemes, what transports of delight! Georges loved
her, Georges Fromont, the heir of the factory! They would marry; she
would be rich. For in that mercenary little heart the first kiss of love
had awakened no ideas save those of ambition and a life of luxury.

To assure herself that her lover was sincere, she tried to recall the
scene under the trees to its most trifling details, the expression of his
eyes, the warmth of his embrace, the vows uttered brokenly, lips to lips,
it that weird light shed by the glow-worms, which one solemn moment had
fixed forever in her heart.

Oh! the glow-worms of Savigny!

All night long they twinkled like stars before her closed eyes. The park
was full of them, to the farthest limits of its darkest paths. There were
clusters of them all along the lawns, on the trees, in the shrubbery. The
fine gravel of the avenues, the waves of the river, seemed to emit green
sparks, and all those microscopic flashes formed a sort of holiday
illumination in which Savigny seemed to be enveloped in her honor, to
celebrate the betrothal of Georges and Sidonie.

When she rose the next day, her plan was formed. Georges loved her; that
was certain. Did he contemplate marrying her? She had a suspicion that he
did not, the clever minx! But that did not frighten her. She felt strong
enough to triumph over that childish nature, at once wea