errible child he had known once, at times wild as a hurricane, at others
pensive and wrapped in gloomy reserve; he tried to imagine her such as she
had been described to him since; tall, handsome, ascetic; then he fancied
her suddenly casting her vail to the winds, like one of the fantastic nuns
in "Robert le Diable," and returning swift-footed into the world; of all
these various impressions he composed, in spite of himself, a figure of
Chimera and Sphinx, which he found very difficult to connect with the idea
of domestic happiness.

They discussed in the family circle, during the whole evening, the
complications which might arise from that marriage project, and the means
of avoiding them. Monsieur de Lucan entered into all these details with
the utmost good grace, and declared that he would lend himself heartily,
for his own part, to all the arrangements which his daughter-in-law might
wish. That precaution was not destined to be useless.

Early the next morning, Clotilde returned to the convent. Julia, after
listening with slightly ironical nonchalance to the account which her
mother gave her of the transports and the joy of her intended, assumed a
more serious air.

"And your husband," she said, "what does he think of it?"

"He is delighted, as we all are."

"I am going to ask you a single question: does he expect to be present at
our wedding?"

"That will be just as you like."

"Listen, good little mother, and don't grieve in advance. I know very well
that sooner or later, this marriage must be the means of bringing us all
together; but let me have a little time to become accustomed to the idea.
Grant me a few months so that the old Julia may be forgotten, and I may
forget her myself--you will; say, won't you?"

"Anything you please," said Clotilde, with a sigh.

"I beg of you. Tell him that I beg of him, too."

"I'll tell him; but do you know that Pierre is here?"

"Ah! _mon Dieu!_ and where did you leave him?"

"I left him in the garden."

"In the garden! how imprudent, mother! why, the ladies are going to tear
him to pieces--like Orpheus, for you may well believe that he is not in
the odor of sanctity here."

Monsieur de Moras was sent for at once, and he came up in all haste. Julia
began laughing as he appeared at the door, which facilitated his entree.
She had several times, during their interview, fits of that nervous
laughter which is so useful to women in trying circumstances. Deprived of
t