nd thought for a whole hour what a
stupid instrument the piano was; a man's head may be full of ideas, and
it will drive them all out.

Yet I had so much to ponder over. What should I say to my uncle when he
came. With what should I begin? How could I tell him what I knew? What
should I ask from him?

But how was it possible that neither was at home at such a critical
time? Surely they must have been informed of such a misfortune. I did
not dare to introduce Lorand's name before the governess. Who knows what
others are? Besides, I had no sympathy for her. For me a governess
seemed always a most frivolous creature.

In the room there was a large clock that caused me most annoyance. How
long it took for those hands to reach ten o'clock! Then, when it did
strike, its tone was of that aristocratic nasal quality that it must
have acquired from the voices of the people around it.

Sometimes the governess laughed, when Melanie made some curious mistake;
Melanie, too, laughed and peeped from behind her music to see if I was
smiling.

I had not even noticed it.

Then my pretty cousin poutingly tossed back her curly hair, as if she
were annoyed that I too was beginning to play a part of indifference
towards her.

At last the street-door bell rang. From the footsteps I knew my uncle
had come. They were so dignified.

Soon the butler entered and said I could speak with his lordship, if I
so desired.

Trembling all over, I took my hat, and wished the ladies good-night.

"Are you not coming back, to hear the end of the Cavatina;" inquired
Melanie.

"I cannot," I answered, and left them there.

My uncle's study was on the farther side of the hall; the butler lighted
my way with a lamp, then he put it down on a chest, that I might find my
way back.

"Well, my child, what do you want?" inquired my uncle, in that gay,
playful tone, which we are wont to use in speaking to children to
express that we are quite indifferent as to their affairs.

I answered languidly, as if some gravestone were weighing upon my
breast,

"Dear uncle, Lorand has left us."

"You know already?" he asked, putting on his many colored embroidered
dressing-gown.

"You know too?" I exclaimed, taken aback.

"What, that Lorand has run away?" remarked my uncle, coolly buttoning
together the silken folds of his dressing gown; "why I know more than
that:--I know also that my wife has run away with him, and all my wife's
jewels, not to mention the