rie, sitting near her,
continued some embroidery. The young men also attended to their
respective tasks, and now and again raised their heads and exchanged a
few words. Guillaume, for his part, likewise seemed very busy; Pierre
alone coming and going in a state of anguish, beholding them all as in a
nightmare, and attributing some terrible meaning to the most innocent
remarks. During _dejeuner_, in order to explain the frightful discomfort
into which he was thrown by the gaiety of the meal, he had been obliged
to say that he felt poorly. And now he was looking and listening and
waiting with ever-growing anxiety.

Shortly before three o'clock, Guillaume glanced at his watch and then
quietly took up his hat. "Well," said he, "I'm going out."

His sons, Mere-Grand and Marie raised their heads.

"I'm going out," he repeated, "_au revoir_."

Still he did not go off. Pierre could divine that he was struggling,
stiffening himself against the frightful tempest which was raging within
him, striving to prevent either shudder or pallor from betraying his
awful secret. Ah! he must have suffered keenly; he dared not give his
sons a last kiss, for fear lest he might rouse some suspicion in their
minds, which would impel them to oppose him and prevent his death! At
last with supreme heroism he managed to overcome himself.

"_Au revoir_, boys."

"_Au revoir_, father. Will you be home early?"

"Yes, yes.... Don't worry about me, do plenty of work."

Mere-Grand, still majestically silent, kept her eyes fixed upon him. Her
he had ventured to kiss, and their glances met and mingled, instinct with
all that he had decided and that she had promised: their common dream of
truth and justice.

"I say, Guillaume," exclaimed Marie gaily, "will you undertake a
commission for me if you are going down by way of the Rue des Martyrs?"

"Why, certainly," he replied.

"Well, then, please look in at my dressmaker's, and tell her that I
shan't go to try my gown on till to-morrow morning."

It was a question of her wedding dress, a gown of light grey silk, the
stylishness of which she considered very amusing. Whenever she spoke of
it, both she and the others began to laugh.

"It's understood, my dear," said Guillaume, likewise making merry over
it. "We know it's Cinderella's court robe, eh? The fairy brocade and lace
that are to make you very beautiful and for ever happy."

However, the laughter ceased, and in the sudden silence which fell,