To think that I may one day have a granddaughter calling
herself Madame Daburon! You must petition the king, my friend, to change
your name."

If instead of intoxicating himself with dreams of happiness, this acute
observer had studied the character of his idol, the effect might have
been to put him upon his guard. In the meanwhile, he noticed singular
alterations in her humour. On certain days, she was gay and careless
as a child. Then, for a week, she would remain melancholy and dejected.
Seeing her in this state the day following a ball, to which her
grandmother had made a point of taking her, he dared to ask her the
reason of her sadness.

"Oh! that," answered she, heaving a deep sigh, "is my secret,--a secret
of which even my grandmother knows nothing."

M. Daburon looked at her. He thought he saw a tear between her long
eyelashes.

"One day," continued she, "I may confide in you: it will perhaps be
necessary."

The magistrate was blind and deaf. "I also," answered he, "have a
secret, which I wish to confide to you in return."

When he retired towards midnight, he said to himself, "To-morrow I will
confess everything to her." Then passed a little more than fifty days,
during which he kept repeating to himself,--"To-morrow!"

It happened at last one evening in the month of August; the heat all
day had been overpowering; towards dusk a breeze had risen, the leaves
rustled; there were signs of a storm in the atmosphere.

They were seated together at the bottom of the garden, under the arbour,
adorned with exotic plants, and, through the branches, they perceived
the fluttering gown of the marchioness, who was taking a turn after her
dinner. They had remained a long time without speaking, enjoying the
perfume of the flowers, the calm beauty of the evening.

M. Daburon ventured to take the young girl's hand. It was the first
time, and the touch of her fine skin thrilled through every fibre of his
frame, and drove the blood surging to his brain.

"Mademoiselle," stammered he, "Claire--"

She turned towards him her beautiful eyes, filled with astonishment.

"Forgive me," continued he, "forgive me. I have spoken to your
grandmother, before daring to raise my eyes to you. Do you not
understand me? A word from your lips will decide my future happiness or
misery. Claire, mademoiselle, do not spurn me: I love you!"

While the magistrate was speaking, Mademoiselle d'Arlange looked at him
as though doubtful of th