ole person denoting a holiday air, Frantz had a
singular expression on his face that day, an expression at once timid and
resolute, emotional and solemn, and simply from the way in which the
little low chair took its place beside the great easy-chair, the
easy-chair understood that a very serious communication was about to be
made to it in confidence, and it had some little suspicion as to what it
might be.

The conversation began with divers unimportant remarks, interspersed with
long and frequent pauses, just as, on a journey, we stop at every
baiting-place to take breath, to enable us to reach our destination.

"It is a fine day to-day."

"Oh! yes, beautiful."

"Our flowers still smell sweet."

"Oh! very sweet."

And even as they uttered those trivial sentences, their voices trembled
at the thought of what was about to be said.

At last the little low chair moved a little nearer the great easy-chair;
their eyes met, their fingers were intertwined, and the two, in low
tones, slowly called each other by their names.

"Desiree!"

"Frantz!"

At that moment there was a knock at the door.

It was the soft little tap of a daintily gloved hand which fears to soil
itself by the slightest touch.

"Come in!" said Desiree, with a slight gesture of impatience; and Sidonie
appeared, lovely, coquettish, and affable. She had come to see her little
Zizi, to embrace her as she was passing by. She had been meaning to come
for so long.

Frantz's presence seemed to surprise her greatly, and, being engrossed by
her delight in talking with her former friend, she hardly looked at him.
After the effusive greetings and caresses, after a pleasant chat over old
times, she expressed a wish to see the window on the landing and the room
formerly occupied by the Rislers. It pleased her thus to live all her
youth over again.

"Do you remember, Frantz, when the Princess Hummingbird entered your
room, holding her little head very straight under a diadem of birds'
feathers?"

Frantz did not reply. He was too deeply moved to reply. Something warned
him that it was on his account, solely on his account, that the woman had
come, that she was determined to see him again, to prevent him from
giving himself to another, and the poor wretch realized with dismay that
she would not have to exert herself overmuch to accomplish her object.
When he saw her enter the room, his whole heart had been caught in her
net once more.

Desiree suspecte