on the landing, where she had resumed her silent
observations--for she had so arranged matters as not to return to
Mademoiselle Le Mire--little Chebe tried to distinguish her lover,
watched him as he went to and fro across the yards and among the
buildings; and in the afternoon, when it was time for the train to
start for Savigny, she saw him enter his carriage to go to his aunt and
cousin, who were passing the early months of their period of mourning at
the grandfather's chateau in the country.

All this excited and alarmed her; and the proximity of the factory
rendered Georges's avoidance of her even more apparent. To think that
by raising her voice a little she could make him turn toward the place
where she stood! To think that they were separated only by a wall! And
yet, at that moment they were very far apart.

Do you remember, little Chebe, that unhappy winter evening when the
excellent Risler rushed into your parents' room with an extraordinary
expression of countenance, exclaiming, "Great news!"?

Great news, indeed! Georges Fromont had just informed him that, in
accordance with his uncle's last wishes, he was to marry his cousin
Claire, and that, as he was certainly unequal to the task of carrying on
the business alone, he had resolved to take him, Risler, for a partner,
under the firm name of FROMONT JEUNE AND RISLER AINE.

How did you succeed, little Chebe, in maintaining your self-possession
when you learned that the factory had eluded your grasp and that another
woman had taken your place? What a terrible evening!--Madame Chebe sat
by the table mending; M. Chebe before the fire drying his clothes, which
were wet through by his having walked a long distance in the rain. Oh!
that miserable room, overflowing with gloom and ennui! The lamp gave a
dim light. The supper, hastily prepared, had left in the room the odor
of the poor man's kitchen. And Risler, intoxicated with joy, talking
with increasing animation, laid great plans!

All these things tore your heart, and made the treachery still
more horrible by the contrast between the riches that eluded your
outstretched hand and the ignoble mediocrity in which you were doomed to
pass your life.

Sidonie was seriously ill for a long while. As she lay in bed, whenever
the window-panes rattled behind the curtains, the unhappy creature
fancied that Georges's wedding-coaches were driving through the
street; and she had paroxysms of nervous excitement, without wo