usty. This state of things had been foreseen and provided
for. Just beyond the boundary of the farm we met two spacious vehicles
coming to fetch us--such conveyances as are hired out purposely for the
accommodation of school-parties; here, with good management, room was
found for all, and in another hour M. Paul made safe consignment of his
charge at the Rue Fossette. It had been a pleasant day: it would have
been perfect, but for the breathing of melancholy which had dimmed its
sunshine a moment.

That tarnish was renewed the same evening.

Just about sunset, I saw M. Emanuel come out of the front-door,
accompanied by Madame Beck. They paced the centre-alley for nearly an
hour, talking earnestly: he--looking grave, yet restless; she--wearing
an amazed, expostulatory, dissuasive air.

I wondered what was under discussion; and when Madame Beck re-entered
the house as it darkened, leaving her kinsman Paul yet lingering in the
garden, I said to myself--"He called me 'petite soeur' this morning. If
he were really my brother, how I should like to go to him just now, and
ask what it is that presses on his mind. See how he leans against that
tree, with his arms crossed and his brow bent. He wants consolation, I
know: Madame does not console: she only remonstrates. What now----?"

Starting from quiescence to action, M. Paul came striding erect and
quick down the garden. The carre doors were yet open: I thought he was
probably going to water the orange-trees in the tubs, after his
occasional custom; on reaching the court, however, he took an abrupt
turn and made for the berceau and the first-classe glass door. There,
in that first classe I was, thence I had been watching him; but there I
could not find courage to await his approach. He had turned so
suddenly, he strode so fast, he looked so strange; the coward within me
grew pale, shrank and--not waiting to listen to reason, and hearing the
shrubs crush and the gravel crunch to his advance--she was gone on the
wings of panic.

Nor did I pause till I had taken sanctuary in the oratory, now empty.
Listening there with beating pulses, and an unaccountable, undefined
apprehension, I heard him pass through all the schoolrooms, clashing
the doors impatiently as he went; I heard him invade the refectory
which the "lecture pieuse" was now holding under hallowed constraint; I
heard him pronounce these words--"Ou est Mademoiselle Lucie?"

And just as, summoning my courage, I was pre