he slumber of young
girls, sad memories of the past haunted her restless nights. Those whom
she had loved and lost appeared before her as in a vision--the Marquise
de Chamondrin, who had lavished upon her all a mother's care and
tenderness; the Marquis, whose affection had filled her early years with
joy; Philip and Antoinette, the brother and sister of her
adoption--these appeared and vanished without awaking in her sorrowing
heart any emotion save that of the profound anguish of separation. Look
which way she would for comfort, she could find none; and she was
condemned to bear her heavy burden alone. Those days of universal
distrust were not propitious for the birth and development of new
friendships; nor were Vauquelas and Coursegol such companions as Dolores
needed to cheer and encourage her. During the few short hours that
Coursegol spent at home, he was always absorbed in his calculations; and
as for Vauquelas, though he treated her with rather cold respect, it was
difficult to ascertain his real feelings toward her, for his furrowed
face betrayed none of his impressions; and Dolores instinctively felt
that she could not look to him for the consolation of which she stood so
greatly in need. Her mornings were spent over the account-books, which
had been entrusted to her charge; at noon, she partook of a solitary
repast, and it was only at dinner that she saw Coursegol and her host.

One stormy evening in October, she was sitting in her chamber, a room
upon the first-floor, opening into the garden by a glass door over
which hung a heavy curtain. It was about nine o'clock. Vauquelas and
Coursegol had gone out; the servants had retired, and Dolores was quite
alone. Seated in a low chair before the fire, she was busying herself
with her embroidery; but it was easy to see that her thoughts were not
upon her work. She was brooding over the past and wondering in what
quarter of the globe she might hope to find her lost friends.

"What are they doing?" she wondered. "Are they thinking of me? Are they
happy?"

And as these questions suggested many others, she sank into a profound
reverie.

Suddenly the wind gave a loud shriek without, and the branches of the
trees in the garden creaked and groaned as the tempest buffeted them and
tossed them to and fro. Dolores shivered, partly from fear, partly from
nervousness. As she did so, another gust, more furious than the first,
filled the air with its weird voices. It sounded