ght days of disdain, of the deepest and most utter
contempt!--A frightful conclusion. And perhaps the purse had been found,
perhaps Adelaide had looked for her friend every evening.

This simple and natural idea filled the lover with fresh remorse; he
asked himself whether the proofs of attachment given him by the young
girl, the delightful talks, full of the love that had so charmed
him, did not deserve at least an inquiry; were not worthy of some
justification. Ashamed of having resisted the promptings of his heart
for a whole week, and feeling himself almost a criminal in this mental
struggle, he called the same evening on Madame de Rouville.

All his suspicions, all his evil thoughts vanished at the sight of the
young girl, who had grown pale and thin.

"Good heavens! what is the matter?" he asked her, after greeting the
Baroness.

Adelaide made no reply, but she gave him a look of deep melancholy, a
sad, dejected look, which pained him.

"You have, no doubt, been working hard," said the old lady. "You are
altered. We are the cause of your seclusion. That portrait had delayed
some pictures essential to your reputation."

Hippolyte was glad to find so good an excuse for his rudeness.

"Yes," he said, "I have been very busy, but I have been suffering----"

At these words Adelaide raised her head, looked at her lover, and her
anxious eyes had now no hint of reproach.

"You must have thought us quite indifferent to any good or ill that may
befall you?" said the old lady.

"I was wrong," he replied. "Still, there are forms of pain which we know
not how to confide to any one, even to a friendship of older date than
that with which you honor me."

"The sincerity and strength of friendship are not to be measured
by time. I have seen old friends who had not a tear to bestow on
misfortune," said the Baroness, nodding sadly.

"But you--what ails you?" the young man asked Adelaide.

"Oh, nothing," replied the Baroness. "Adelaide has sat up late for some
nights to finish some little piece of woman's work, and would not listen
to me when I told her that a day more or less did not matter----"

Hippolyte was not listening. As he looked at these two noble, calm
faces, he blushed for his suspicions, and ascribed the loss of his purse
to some unknown accident.

This was a delicious evening to him, and perhaps to her too. There are
some secrets which young souls understand so well. Adelaide could read
Hippolyte's thou