refuge in this transparent dissimulation,
ready to her hand, the first resource of an artless unhappiness. Mme.
de Listomere appeared to be satisfied with Julie's answers; but in her
secret heart she rejoiced to think that here was a love affair on hand
to enliven her solitude, for that her niece had some amusing flirtation
on foot she was fully convinced.

In the great drawing-room, hung with tapestry framed in strips of
gilding, young Mme. d'Aiglemont sat before a blazing fire, behind a
Chinese screen placed to shut out the cold draughts from the window,
and her heavy mood scarcely lightened. Among the old eighteenth-century
furniture, under the old paneled ceiling, it was not very easy to be
gay. Yet the young Parisienne took a sort of pleasure in this entrance
upon a life of complete solitude and in the solemn silence of the old
provincial house. She exchanged a few words with the aunt, a stranger,
to whom she had written a bride's letter on her marriage, and then sat
as silent as if she had been listening to an opera. Not until two hours
had been spent in an atmosphere of quiet befitting la Trappe, did she
suddenly awaken to a sense of uncourteous behavior, and bethink herself
of the short answers which she had given her aunt. Mme. de Listomere,
with the gracious tact characteristic of a bygone age, had respected
her niece's mood. When Mme. d'Aiglemont became conscious of her
shortcomings, the dowager sat knitting, though as a matter of fact she
had several times left the room to superintend preparations in the
Green Chamber, whither the Countess' luggage had been transported; now,
however, she had returned to her great armchair, and stole a glance from
time to time at this young relative. Julie felt ashamed of giving way
to irresistible broodings, and tried to earn her pardon by laughing at
herself.

"My dear child, _we_ know the sorrows of widowhood," returned her aunt.
But only the eyes of forty years could have distinguished the irony
hovering about the old lady's mouth.

Next morning the Countess improved. She talked. Mme. de Listomere no
longer despaired of fathoming the new-made wife, whom yesterday she had
set down as a dull, unsociable creature, and discoursed on the delights
of the country, of dances, of houses where they could visit. All that
day the Marquise's questions were so many snares; it was the old habit
of the old Court, she could not help setting traps to discover her
niece's character. For