r Artemise was now tired of the subject and of
Pauline's endless farewells and preferred to look out of the window.

Rare sight on a December day, the peacock was still pacing to and fro,
for the air was as mild and balmy as in June, and although the road ran
water and the trees were rapidly losing their icy trappings the
courtyard had been swept of snow and therefore remained almost dry.
The beauty of the glissade was over. But Artemise looked only for a
moment at the peacock. Along the road from the direction of the
village were advancing two men, Dr. Renaud and the priest; behind them,
a few steps, walked Martin, the Indian. They came near the stone
fence, they stopped, all three, and seemed to confer, studying from
time to time the front of the house. Absorbed in watching them,
Artemise listened no longer at all to Miss Clairville's pronouncements
and indeed very little was left to say. Pauline put on her gloves,
slung her muff around her neck and submitted to a frantic embrace from
the warm-hearted, lonely little girl, then turned to bid farewell to
the mother.

"Two hours by my watch!" she cried gaily. "Which of us has been the
gossip, the chatterbox, eh, Artemise! _Eh! bien_, I wish you a very
sincere and a very long good-bye." Some emotion crept into her throat,
into her voice. The child was her brother's. This poor girl, the
mother, bore her own name, and she could not harden her heart entirely
against the ill-starred couple, and why should she! She was bidding
them both farewell, probably for ever, and the prospect so soothed her
that she ejaculated, "Poor children!" and wiped away a tear.

"Take great care of yourself, Artemise, for Angeel's sake and mine, and
for the sake of the name you bear and the place it has held in the
country. But what are you looking at so intently? What is the matter
out there, Artemise?"

At that instant the priest detached himself from the others and
entering the domain walked slowly up to the door and knocked.

Pauline, not comprehending the nature of the visit, went herself and
opened to Father Rielle. His long face told her nothing--was it not
always long? The presence of Renaud and the guide, whom she also saw
in the background, told her nothing; their being there was perhaps only
a coincidence and they had not turned their faces as yet in her
direction. Precisely as Crabbe had met his fate without seeing it
arrive, although half an hour earlier he had for