more and more, and in fancy could already feel the
sonorous river seizing him, when a gay young voice in the rear recalled
him to reality.

"What are you looking at, Monsieur Morange? Are there any big fishes
there?"

It was Hortense, looking extremely pretty, and tall already for her ten
years, whom a maid was conducting on a visit to some little friends at
Auteuil. And when the distracted accountant turned round, he remained
for a moment with trembling hands, and eyes moist with tears, at the
sight of that apparition, that dear angel, who had recalled him from so
far.

"What! is it you, my pet!" he exclaimed. "No, no, there are no big
fishes. I think that they hide at the bottom because the water is so
cold in winter. Are you going on a visit? You look quite beautiful in
that fur-trimmed cloak!"

The little girl began to laugh, well pleased at being flattered and
loved, for her old friend's voice quivered with adoration.

"Yes, yes, I am very happy; there are to be some private theatricals
where I'm going. Oh! it is amusing to feel happy!"

She spoke those words like his own Reine might formerly have spoken
them, and he could have gone down on his knees to kiss her little hands
like an idol's.

"But it is necessary that you should always be happy," he replied. "You
look so beautiful, I must really kiss you."

"Oh! you may, Monsieur Morange, I'm quite willing. Ah! you know the doll
you gave me; her name's Margot, and you have no idea how good she is.
Come to see her some day."

He had kissed her; and with glowing heart, ready for martyrdom, he
watched her as she went off in the pale light of winter. What he had
thought of would be too cowardly: besides, that child must be happy!

He slowly quitted the bridge, while within him the haunting words rang
out with decisive distinctness, demanding a reply: "Would he allow that
fresh crime to be committed without shouting aloud what he knew?" No,
no! It was impossible: he would speak, he would act. Nevertheless, his
mind remained clouded, befogged. How could he speak, how could he act?

Then, to crown his extravagant conduct, utterly breaking away from the
habits of forty years, he no sooner returned to the office than, instead
of immediately plunging into his everlasting additions, he began to
write a long letter. This letter, which was addressed to Mathieu,
recounted the whole affair--Alexandre's resurrection, Constance's plans,
and the service which he himself