about way of manifesting his change of
feeling. This seemed to be the only plausible solution of his cousin's
behavior. "He is probably tired," thought he, "of keeping us here at the
chateau, my mother and myself."

Claudet's pride and self-respect revolted at this idea. He did not
intend to be an incumbrance on any one, and became offended in his turn
at the mute reproach which he imagined he could read in his cousin's
troubled countenance. This misconception, confirmed by the obstinate
silence of both parties, and aggravated by its own continuance, at last
produced a crisis.

It happened one night, after they had taken supper together, and
Julien's ill-humor had been more evident than usual. Provoked at his
persistent taciturnity, and more than ever convinced that it was his
presence that young de Buxieres objected to, Claudet resolved to force
an explanation. Instead, therefore, of quitting the dining-room after
dessert, and whistling to his dog to accompany him in his habitual
promenade, the 'grand chasserot' remained seated, poured out a small
glass of brandy, and slowly filled his pipe. Surprised to see that
he was remaining at home, Julien rose and began to pace the floor,
wondering what could be the reason of this unexpected change. As
suspicious people are usually prone to attribute complicated motives for
the most simple actions, he imagined that Claudet, becoming aware of
the jealous feeling he had excited, had given up his promenade solely
to mislead and avert suspicion. This idea irritated him still more, and
halting suddenly in his walk, he went up to Claudet and said, brusquely:

"You are not going out, then?"

"No;" replied Claudet, "if you will permit me, I will stay and keep you
company. Shall I annoy you?"

"Not in the least; only, as you are accustomed to walk every evening,
I should not wish you to inconvenience yourself on my account. I am not
afraid of being alone, and I am not selfish enough to deprive you of
society more agreeable than mine."

"What do you mean by that?" cried Claudet, pricking up his ears.

"Nothing," muttered Julien, between his set teeth, "except that your
fancied obligation of keeping me company ought not to prevent you
missing a pleasant engagement, or keeping a rendezvous."

"A rendezvous," replied his interlocutor, with a forced laugh, "so you
think, when I go out after supper, I go to seek amusement. A rendezvous!
And with whom, if you please?"

"With your mis