uch a becoming fashion, that her language might be regarded
as the expression of respect for propriety or of polite irony. It was
worth while to watch the way in which, in the midst of twenty persons
chatting around her, she would, without overlooking any of them, bring
about the answers she desired and avoid those that were dangerous.
Things of a very simple nature, when related by her, assumed the aspect
of confidences. Her slightest smile gave rise to dreams; in short, her
charm, like the exquisite scent which she usually carried about with
her, was complex and indefinable.

While he was with her, Frederick experienced on each occasion the
pleasure of a new discovery, and, nevertheless, he always found her
equally serene the next time they met, like the reflection of limpid
waters.

But why was there such coldness in her manner towards her niece? At
times she even darted strange looks at her.

As soon as the question of marriage was started, she had urged as an
objection to it, when discussing the matter with M. Dambreuse, the state
of "the dear child's" health, and had at once taken her off to the baths
of Balaruc. On her return fresh pretexts were raised by her--that the
young man was not in a good position, that this ardent passion did not
appear to be a very serious attachment, and that no risk would be run by
waiting. Martinon had replied, when the suggestion was made to him, that
he would wait. His conduct was sublime. He lectured Frederick. He did
more. He enlightened him as to the best means of pleasing Madame
Dambreuse, even giving him to understand that he had ascertained from
the niece the sentiments of her aunt.

As for M. Dambreuse, far from exhibiting jealousy, he treated his young
friend with the utmost attention, consulted him about different things,
and even showed anxiety about his future, so that one day, when they
were talking about Pere Roque, he whispered with a sly air:

"You have done well."

And Cecile, Miss John, the servants and the porter, every one of them
exercised a fascination over him in this house. He came there every
evening, quitting Rosanette for that purpose. Her approaching maternity
rendered her graver in manner, and even a little melancholy, as if she
were tortured by anxieties. To every question put to her she replied:

"You are mistaken; I am quite well."

She had, as a matter of fact, signed five notes in her previous
transactions, and not having the courage to tel