and the Englishman's mute way of
expressing his timid, earnest love tickled Mme. de Listomere. For her
the periodically recurrent glance became a part of the day's routine,
hailed daily with new jests. As the two women sat down to table, both of
them looked out at the same moment. This time Julie's eyes met Arthur's
with such a precision of sympathy that the color rose to her face. The
stranger immediately urged his horse into a gallop and went.

"What is to be done, madame?" asked Julie. "People see this Englishman
go past the house, and they will take it for granted that I--"

"Yes," interrupted her aunt.

"Well, then, could I not tell him to discontinue his promenades?"

"Would not that be a way of telling him that he was dangerous? You might
put that notion into his head. And besides, can you prevent a man from
coming and going as he pleases? Our meals shall be served in another
room to-morrow; and when this young gentleman sees us no longer, there
will be an end of making love to you through the window. There, dear
child, that is how a woman of the world does."

But the measure of Julie's misfortune was to be filled up. The two women
had scarcely risen from table when Victor's man arrived in hot haste
from Bourges with a letter for the Countess from her husband. The
servant had ridden by unfrequented ways.

Victor sent his wife news of the downfall of the Empire and the
capitulation of Paris. He himself had gone over to the Bourbons, and all
France was welcoming them back with transports of enthusiasm. He could
not go so far as Tours, but he begged her to come at once to join him at
Orleans, where he hoped to be in readiness with passports for her.
His servant, an old soldier, would be her escort so far as Orleans; he
(Victor) believed that the road was still open.

"You have not a moment to lose, madame," said the man. "The Prussians,
Austrians, and English are about to effect a junction either at Blois or
at Orleans."

A few hours later, Julie's preparations were made, and she started out
upon her journey in an old traveling carriage lent by her aunt.

"Why should you not come with us to Paris?" she asked, as she put her
arms about the Marquise. "Now that the Bourbons have come back you would
be--"

"Even if there had not been this unhoped-for return, I should still have
gone to Paris, my poor child, for my advice is only too necessary to
both you and Victor. So I shall make all my preparations for re