hought so. Show them in."

"Yes, miss. And have you any orders for me to give Victoire when we get
to Paris?" said Alfred.

"No. Are you starting soon?"

"Yes, miss. We're all going by the seven o'clock train. It's a long way
from here to Paris; we shall only reach it at nine in the morning. That
will give us just time to get the house ready for you by the time you
get there to-morrow evening," said Alfred.

"Is everything packed?"

"Yes, miss--everything. The cart has already taken the heavy luggage to
the station. All you'll have to do is to see after your bags."

"That's all right. Show M. du Buit and his brother in," said Germaine.

She moved to a chair near the window, and disposed herself in an
attitude of studied, and obviously studied, grace.

As she leant her head at a charming angle back against the tall back of
the chair, her eyes fell on the window, and they opened wide.

"Why, whatever's this?" she cried, pointing to it.

"Whatever's what?" said Sonia, without raising her eyes from the
envelope she was addressing.

"Why, the window. Look! one of the panes has been taken out. It looks
as if it had been cut."

"So it has--just at the level of the fastening," said Sonia. And the
two girls stared at the gap.

"Haven't you noticed it before?" said Germaine.

"No; the broken glass must have fallen outside," said Sonia.

The noise of the opening of the door drew their attention from the
window. Two figures were advancing towards them--a short, round, tubby
man of fifty-five, red-faced, bald, with bright grey eyes, which seemed
to be continually dancing away from meeting the eyes of any other human
being. Behind him came a slim young man, dark and grave. For all the
difference in their colouring, it was clear that they were father and
son: their eyes were set so close together. The son seemed to have
inherited, along with her black eyes, his mother's nose, thin and
aquiline; the nose of the father started thin from the brow, but ended
in a scarlet bulb eloquent of an exhaustive acquaintance with the
vintages of the world.

Germaine rose, looking at them with an air of some surprise and
uncertainty: these were not her friends, the Du Buits.

The elder man, advancing with a smiling bonhomie, bowed, and said in an
adenoid voice, ingratiating of tone: "I'm M. Charolais, young
ladies--M. Charolais--retired brewer--chevalier of the Legion of
Honour--landowner at Rennes. Let me introduce my son." The