o make Clara talk, it was Clara, in fact,
who questioned Emilie; she had meant to judge her, and she was judged by
her; she was constantly provoked to find that she had betrayed her own
character in some reply which Clara had extracted from her, while her
modest and candid manner prohibited any suspicion of perfidy. There was
a moment when Mademoiselle de Fontaine seemed sorry for an ill-judged
sally against the commonalty to which Clara had led her.

"Mademoiselle," said the sweet child, "I have heard so much of you from
Maximilien that I had the keenest desire to know you, out of affection
for him; but is not a wish to know you a wish to love you?"

"My dear Clara, I feared I might have displeased you by speaking thus of
people who are not of noble birth."

"Oh, be quite easy. That sort of discussion is pointless in these days.
As for me, it does not affect me. I am beside the question."

Ambitious as the answer might seem, it filled Mademoiselle de Fontaine
with the deepest joy; for, like all infatuated people, she explained it,
as oracles are explained, in the sense that harmonized with her wishes;
she began dancing again in higher spirits than ever, as she watched
Longueville, whose figure and grace almost surpassed those of her
imaginary ideal. She felt added satisfaction in believing him to be well
born, her black eyes sparkled, and she danced with all the pleasure that
comes of dancing in the presence of the being we love. The couple had
never understood each other as well as at this moment; more than once
they felt their finger tips thrill and tremble as they were married in
the figures of the dance.

The early autumn had come to the handsome pair, in the midst of country
festivities and pleasures; they had abandoned themselves softly to the
tide of the sweetest sentiment in life, strengthening it by a thousand
little incidents which any one can imagine; for love is in some respects
always the same. They studied each other through it all, as much as
lovers can.

"Well, well; a flirtation never turned so quickly into a love match,"
said the old uncle, who kept an eye on the two young people as a
naturalist watches an insect in the microscope.

The speech alarmed Monsieur and Madame Fontaine. The old Vendeen had
ceased to be so indifferent to his daughter's prospects as he had
promised to be. He went to Paris to seek information, and found none.
Uneasy at this mystery, and not yet knowing what might be the