and deliberating. Samuel
Brohl's insolent menace had produced some effect. She sought to remember
the exact purport of the two letters that formerly she had had the
imprudence to write him from London, while he was fulfilling a business
commission for her in Paris. On his return she had required Samuel to
burn these two compromising epistles, in her presence; he had deceived
her; he burned the envelopes and blank paper. The thought of some day
having her composition quoted in court, and printed verbatim in the
petty journals, terrified her, and made her blood boil in her veins;
she hardly cared to take Paris and St. Petersburg into her confidence
concerning an experience the recollection of which caused her
disgust--but to let such an admirable opportunity of vengeance escape
her! renounce the delight of the gods and of princesses! permit this man
who had just defied her to accomplish his underhand intrigue! She could
not resign herself to the idea, and the consequence was that, during the
night she spent at Maisons, she scarcely closed her eyes.

CHAPTER XI

The following day, after breakfast, Mlle. Moriaz was walking alone on
the terrace. The weather was delightfully mild. She was bare-headed, and
had opened her white silk umbrella to protect herself from the sun; for
Samuel Brohl had been a true prophet--there was sunshine. She looked up
at the sky, where no trace was left of the wind-storm of the preceding
evening, and it seemed to her that she never had seen the sky so blue.
She looked at her flower-beds, and the flowers that she saw were perhaps
not there. She looked at the orchard, growing on the slope that bordered
the terrace, and she admired the foliage of the apple-trees, over which
Autumn, with liberal hand, had scattered gold and purple; the grass
there was as high as her knee, and was fragrant and glossy. Above the
apple-trees she saw the spire of the church at Cormeilles; it seemed to
amuse itself watching the flying clouds. It was a high-festival day.
The bells were ringing out a full peal; they spoke to this happy girl
of that far-off, mysterious land which we remember, without ever having
seen it. Their silvery voices were answered by the cheerful cackling of
the hens. She at once understood that a joyful event was occurring
in the poultry-yard, as well as in the belfry; that below, as well as
above, an arrival was being celebrated. But what pleased her more than
all the rest was the little deep-s