pale than if she had committed a great
crime.

"Well, well!"

"Pray be seated, madame," said Montalais, offering her a chair, which
she placed so that the back was towards the closet.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle Aure--thank you. Come my child, be quick."

"Where do you wish me to go, madame?"

"Why, home, to be sure; have you not to prepare your toilette?"

"What did you say?" cried Montalais, hastening to affect surprise, so
fearful was she that Louise would in some way commit herself.

"You don't know the news, then?" said Madame de Saint-Remy.

"What news, madame, is it possible for two girls to learn up in this
dove-cote?"

"What! have you seen nobody?"

"Madame, you talk in enigmas, and you torment us at a slow fire!" cried
Montalais, who, terrified at seeing Louise become paler and paler, did
not know to what saint to put up her vows.

At length she caught an eloquent look of her companion's, one of those
looks which would convey intelligence to a brick wall. Louise directed
her attention to a hat--Raoul's unlucky hat, which was set out in all
its feathery splendor upon the table.

Montalais sprang towards it, and, seizing it with her left hand, passed
it behind her into the right, concealing it as she was speaking.

"Well," said Madame de Saint-Remy, "a courier has arrived, announcing
the approach of the king. There, mesdemoiselles; there is something to
make you put on your best looks."

"Quick, quick!" cried Montalais. "Follow Madame your mother, Louise; and
leave me to get ready my dress of ceremony."

Louise arose; her mother took her by the hand, and led her out on to the
landing.

"Come along," said she; then adding in a low voice, "When I forbid you
to come to the apartment of Montalais, why do you do so?"

"Madame, she is my friend. Besides, I had but just come."

"Did you see nobody concealed while you were there?"

"Madame!"

"I saw a man's hat, I tell you--the hat of that fellow, that
good-for-nothing!"

"Madame!" repeated Louise.

"Of that do-nothing De Malicorne! A maid of honor to have such
company--fie! fie!" and their voices were lost in the depths of the
narrow staircase.

Montalais had not missed a word of this conversation, which echo
conveyed to her as if through a tunnel. She shrugged her shoulders on
seeing Raoul, who had listened likewise, issue from the closet.

"Poor Montalais!" said she, "the victim of friendship! Poor Malicorne,
the victim of love!"

She