ier's absence of mind; her questions were of such
a length, that she did not care about the answers. Having a listener,
she was satisfied, provided that from time to time he gave signs of
life.

When obliged to sit down to play piquet, he cursed below his breath the
game and its detestable inventor. He paid no attention to his cards.
He made mistakes every moment, discarding what he should keep in
and forgetting to cut. The old lady was annoyed by these continual
distractions, but she did scruple to profit by them. She looked at the
discard, changed the cards which did not suit her, while she audaciously
scored points she never made, and pocketed the money thus won without
shame or remorse.

M. Daburon's timidity was extreme, and Claire was unsociable to excess,
they therefore seldom spoke to each other. During the entire winter, the
magistrate did not directly address the young girl ten times; and, on
these rare occasions, he had learned mechanically by heart the phrase he
proposed to repeat to her, well knowing that, without this precaution,
he would most likely be unable to finish what he had to say.

But at least he saw her, he breathed the same air with her, he heard her
voice, whose pure and harmonious vibrations thrilled his very soul.

By constantly watching her eyes, he learned to understand all their
expressions. He believed he could read in them all her thoughts, and
through them look into her soul like through an open window.

"She is pleased to-day," he would say to himself; and then he would
be happy. At other times, he thought, "She has met with some annoyance
to-day;" and immediately he became sad.

The idea of asking for her hand many times presented itself to his
imagination; but he never dared to entertain it. Knowing, as he did,
the marchioness's prejudices, her devotion to titles, her dread of any
approach to a misalliance, he was convinced she would shut his mouth
at the first word by a very decided "no," which she would maintain. To
attempt the thing would be to risk, without a chance of success, his
present happiness which he thought immense, for love lives upon its own
misery.

"Once repulsed," thought he, "the house is shut against me; and then
farewell to happiness, for life will end for me." Upon the other
hand, the very rational thought occurred to him that another might
see Mademoiselle d'Arlange, love her, and, in consequence, ask for and
obtain her. In either case, hazarding a pro