," said Louise.

"Ah! if it is only M. Malicorne," added Montalais, "do not disturb
yourselves."

Louise and Raoul looked at each other to inquire who M. Malicorne could
be.

"There is no occasion to mind him," continued Montalais; "he is not
jealous."

"But, mademoiselle--" said Raoul.

"Yes, I understand. Well, he is discreet as I am."

"Good heavens!" cried Louise, who had applied her ear to the door, which
had been left ajar; "it is my mother's step!"

"Madame de Saint-Remy! Where shall I hide myself?" exclaimed Raoul,
catching at the dress of Montalais, who looked quite bewildered.

"Yes," said she; "yes, I know the clicking of those pattens! It is our
excellent mother. M. le Vicomte, what a pity it is the window looks upon
a stone pavement, and that fifty paces below it."

Raoul glanced at the balcony in despair. Louise seized his arm and held
it tight.

"Oh, how silly I am!" said Montalais; "have I not the robe-of-ceremony
closet? It looks as if it were made on purpose."

It was quite time to act; Madame de Saint-Remy was coming up at a
quicker pace than usual. She gained the landing at the moment when
Montalais, as in all scenes of surprises, shut the closet by leaning
with her back against the door.

"Ah!" cried Madame de Saint-Remy, "you are here, are you, Louise?"

"Yes, madame," replied she, more pale than if she had committed a great
crime.

"Well, well!"

"Pray be seated, madame," said Montalais, offering her a chair, which
she placed so that the back was towards the closet.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle Aure--thank you. Come, my child, be quick."

"Where do you wish me to go, madame?"

"Why, home, to be sure; have you not to prepare your toilette?"

"What did you say?" cried Montalais, hastening to affect surprise, so
fearful was she that Louise would in some way commit herself.

"You don't know the news, then?" said Madame de Saint-Remy.

"What news, madame, is it possible for two girls to learn up in this
dove-cote?"

"What! have you seen nobody?"

"Madame, you talk in enigmas, and you torment us at a slow fire!" cried
Montalais, who, terrified at seeing Louise become paler and paler, did
not know to what saint to put up her vows.

At length she caught an eloquent look of her companion's, one of those
looks which would convey intelligence to a brick wall. Louise directed
her attention to a hat--Raoul's unlucky hat, which was set out in all
its feathery splendor upon the table