thoughtfully, to all appearance more embarrassed than curious concerning
her new relation.

"So we are to make each other's acquaintance, are we, my love?" the
Marquise continued. "Do not be too much alarmed of me. I always try not
to be an old woman with young people."

On the way to the drawing-room, the Marquise ordered breakfast for her
guests in provincial fashion; but the Count checked his aunt's flow of
words by saying soberly that he could only remain in the house while the
horses were changing. On this the three hurried into the drawing-room.
The Colonel had barely time to tell the story of the political and
military events which had compelled him to ask his aunt for a shelter
for his young wife. While he talked on without interruption, the older
lady looked from her nephew to her niece, and took the sadness in
Julie's white face for grief at the enforced separation. "Eh! eh!" her
looks seemed to say, "these young things are in love with each other."

The crack of the postilion's whip sounded outside in the silent old
grass-grown courtyard. Victor embraced his aunt once more, and rushed
out.

"Good-bye, dear," he said, kissing his wife, who had followed him down
to the carriage.

"Oh! Victor, let me come still further with you," she pleaded coaxingly.
"I do not want to leave you----"

"Can you seriously mean it?"

"Very well," said Julie, "since you wish it." The carriage disappeared.

"So you are very fond of my poor Victor?" said the Marquise,
interrogating her niece with one of those sagacious glances which
dowagers give younger women.

"Alas, madame!" said Julie, "must one not love a man well indeed to
marry him?"

The words were spoken with an artless accent which revealed either a
pure heart or inscrutable depths. How could a woman, who had been the
friend of Duclos and the Marechal de Richelieu, refrain from trying to
read the riddle of this marriage? Aunt and niece were standing on the
steps, gazing after the fast vanishing caleche. The look in the young
Countess' eyes did not mean love as the Marquise understood it. The good
lady was a Provencale, and her passions had been lively.

"So you were captivated by my good-for-nothing of a nephew?" she asked.

Involuntarily Julie shuddered, something in the experienced coquette's
look and tone seemed to say that Mme. de Listomere-Landon's knowledge
of her husband's character went perhaps deeper than his wife's. Mme.
d'Aiglemont, in dismay, took