branch passing through Fontainebleau, the other
through Melun. This latter being shorter by several leagues, I followed
it in order to precede Julie by a few hours in Paris, and see her get
down at her own door. I paid the postilions double, and arrived long
before dark at the hotel where I was accustomed to put up in Paris. At
nightfall I stationed myself on the quay opposite to Julie's house,
that she had so often described to me; I knew it as if I had lived
there all my life. I observed through the windows that hurrying to and
fro of shadows within, which one sees in a house where some new guest
is expected. I could see on the ceiling of her room the reflection of
the fire which had been lighted on the hearth. An old man's face showed
itself several times at the window, and appeared to watch and listen to
the noises of the quay. It was her husband,--her second father. The
concierge held the door open, and stepped out from time to time, to
watch and listen likewise. Now and then a pale and rapid gleam of light
from the street lamp, which swung backwards and forwards with the gusty
wind of December, shot athwart the pavement before the house, and then
left it in darkness. At last a travelling carriage swept around the
corner of one of the streets which lead to the quay, and stopped before
the house. I darted forward and half-concealed myself in the shade of a
column at the next door to that at which the carriage stopped. I saw
the servants rush to the door. I saw Julie alight, and saw the old man
embrace her, as a father embraces his child after a long absence; he
then walked heavily upstairs, leaning on the arm of the concierge. The
carriage was unpacked, the postilion drove it round to another street
to put it up, the door was closed. I returned to my post near the
parapet on the river side.

XLVIII.

I stood a long while contemplating from thence the lighted windows of
Julie's house, and sought to discover what was going on inside. I saw
the usual stir of an arrival, busy people carrying trunks, unpacking
parcels, and setting all things in order; when this bustle had a little
subsided, when the lights no longer ran backwards and forwards from
room to room, and that the old man's room alone was lighted by the pale
rays of a night lamp, I could distinguish, through the closed windows
of the _entresol_ beneath, the motionless shadow of Julie's tall and
drooping form on the white curtains. She remained some ti