to-night."

"And to-night I will show you a portrait on ivory, one that will make
you think you see her as you once knew her, Pierre: a picture I keep
among some relics, and look at often--oftener than you think, or anyone
in the world could guess. Good-bye--or rather till nine--no, ten
to-night, _au revoir_."

When his grandfather had left the house, Antoine, who was restless,
unhappy, and full of vague surmises, sat for some time with his head in
his hands, and at last only roused himself with an effort. It was
growing dusk already, for autumn had given place to winter, and the days
were short. There was still light enough, however, for him to see to
write a letter, and in a few lines he told his grandfather that he
should be with him at nine o'clock, and would then ask him to give him
back the confidence that once existed between them, or to charge him
with the fault that he had committed. He felt how vague this was, and
almost hesitated; but he carried the letter to the sitting-room,
nevertheless, and opening the door gently advanced towards the table.

It was a large barely furnished room, and yet not without evidence of
luxury, or at all events of ornament. The great carved chimney-piece was
surmounted by an old mirror with sconces containing candles; a leathern
chair was drawn up to the hearth; on the table itself was a silver
standish with writing materials, and a tall goblet of Venetian glass,
while some rare china stood on a cabinet near the window.

Antoine so rarely entered this room except at night, and to bear his
grandfather company for an hour or two before bed-time, that he
involuntarily glanced round it now in the fast-fading twilight. In that
moment he remarked that the door of the cabinet was unlocked--a
circumstance so unusual that he went towards it and looked inside to
note what might be the reason of such carelessness. Then seeing this
silver cup on the shelf, he carried it to the window, and looked
curiously at its contents. There was some reason for his doing so. In
that dim silent room--where only its master came daily, and the one
domestic who, with an old housekeeper, attended to the wants of Dormeur
and his grandson, and did a little dusting once a week--the silver cup
had become the receptacle of small trinkets, of coins, and quaint pieces
of jewellery.

It was a common custom for the old man to take it out of the cabinet
when his eyes were tired with reading, and to turn over these