could do
for the present was done. Mrs. Costello lay still on her sofa, without
having strength or energy to talk, and Lucia took her never-finished
crochet, and sat in her old place by the window.

But very soon it grew too dark to work. The Place was lighted, and alive
with people passing to and fro. The windows of the guard house opposite
were brilliant, and from those of a cafe on the same side as Madame
Everaert's there shone out, half across the square, a broad line of
light. In this way, at two places, the figures of those who moved about
the pavement on each side of the Place, were very plainly visible; even
the faces of some could be distinguished. Lucia watched these people
to-night with a new interest. Every time the strong glare fell upon a
shabby slouching figure, or on a poorly dressed man who wanted the air
of being a Frenchman, she thought, "Is that Bailey?" When the lamp came
in, Mrs. Costello had fallen asleep, so Lucia turned it down low, and
still sat at the window. The light on the tower shone out clear and
bright--above it the stars looked pale, but the sky was perfectly
serene. Maurice, if he came soon, had every prospect of a fair passage.
"And he will come," she thought to herself, "even if he is really too
much vexed with me to forgive me, he will come for mamma's sake."

All next day they both kept indoors. Lucia tried to persuade her mother
to drive out into the country, but even for this Mrs. Costello had not
courage. At the same time she seemed to be losing all sense of security
in the house. She fancied she had not sufficiently impressed on Father
Paul the importance of not betraying her in any way to Bailey. She
wished to write and remind him of this, but she dared not lest her note
should fall into wrong hands. Then she thought of asking him to visit
her, but hesitated also about that till it was too late. In short, was
in a perfectly unreasonable and incapable condition--fear had taken such
hold of her in her weak state of health that Lucia began to think it
would end in nervous fever. With her the dread of Bailey began to be
quite lost in apprehension for her mother, and her own affairs had to
be put altogether on one side to make room for these new anxieties.

In the afternoon of that day Mrs. Costello suddenly roused herself from
a fit of thought.

"We must go somewhere," she said. "That is certain, whatever else is. As
soon as Maurice comes we ought to be prepared to start. Do g