several days Julie, plied with temptations,
steadfastly declined to seek amusement abroad; and much as the old
lady's pride longed to exhibit her pretty niece, she was fain to
renounce all hope of taking her into society, for the young Countess was
still in morning for her father, and found in her loss and her mourning
dress a pretext for her sadness and desire for seclusion.

By the end of the week the dowager admired Julie's angelic sweetness
of disposition, her diffident charm, her indulgent temper, and
thenceforward began to take a prodigious interest in the mysterious
sadness gnawing at this young heart. The Countess was one of those women
who seem born to be loved and to bring happiness with them. Mme. de
Listomere found her niece's society grown so sweet and precious, that
she doted upon Julie, and could no longer think of parting with her.
A month sufficed to establish an eternal friendship between the two
ladies. The dowager noticed, not without surprise, the changes that took
place in Mme. d'Aiglemont; gradually her bright color died away, and
her face became dead white. Yet, Julie's spirits rose as the bloom faded
from her cheeks. Sometimes the dowager's sallies provoked outbursts of
merriment or peals of laughter, promptly repressed, however, by some
clamorous thought.

Mme. de Listomere had guessed by this time that it was neither Victor's
absence nor a father's death which threw a shadow over her niece's life;
but her mind was so full of dark suspicions, that she found it difficult
to lay a finger upon the real cause of the mischief. Possibly truth is
only discoverable by chance. A day came, however, at length when
Julie flashed out before her aunt's astonished eyes into a complete
forgetfulness of her marriage; she recovered the wild spirits of
careless girlhood. Mme. de Listomere then and there made up her mind
to fathom the depths of this soul, for its exceeding simplicity was as
inscrutable as dissimulation.

Night was falling. The two ladies were sitting by the window which
looked out upon the street, and Julie was looking thoughtful again, when
some one went by on horseback.

"There goes one of your victims," said the Marquise.

Mme. d'Aiglemont looked up; dismay and surprise blended in her face.

"He is a young Englishman, the Honorable Arthur Ormand, Lord Grenville's
eldest son. His history is interesting. His physician sent him to
Montpellier in 1802; it was hoped that in that climate he mi