k, my dear."

But "my dear" does not leave her chair; she does not even stir. With
her eyes staring into vacancy, her needle in the air, arrested in its
pretty, industrious movement, she has gone away to the blue country,
that wonderful country whither one may go at will, without thought of
any infirmity. The name "Frantz," uttered mechanically by her mother,
because of a chance resemblance, represented to her a whole lifetime
of illusions, of fervent hopes, ephemeral as the flush that rose to her
cheeks when, on returning home at night, he used to come and chat with
her a moment. How far away that was already! To think that he used to
live in the little room near hers, that they used to hear his step on
the stairs and the noise made by his table when he dragged it to the
window to draw! What sorrow and what happiness she used to feel when he
talked to her of Sidonie, sitting on the low chair at her knees, while
she mounted her birds and her insects.

As she worked, she used to cheer and comfort him, for Sidonie had caused
poor Frantz many little griefs before the last great one. His tone when
he spoke of Sidonie, the sparkle in his eyes when he thought of her,
fascinated Desiree in spite of everything, so that when he went away
in despair, he left behind him a love even greater than that he carried
with him--a love which the unchanging room, the sedentary, stagnant
life, kept intact with all its bitter perfume, whereas his would
gradually fade away and vanish in the fresh air of the outer world.

It grows darker and darker. A great wave of melancholy envelops the poor
girl with the falling darkness of that balmy evening. The blissful gleam
from the past dies away as the last glimmer of daylight vanishes in the
narrow recess of the window, where her mother still stands leaning on
the sill.

Suddenly the door opens. Some one is there whose features can not be
distinguished. Who can it be? The Delobelles never receive calls. The
mother, who has turned her head, thinks at first that some one has come
from the shop to get the week's work.

"My husband has just gone to your place, Monsieur. We have nothing here.
Monsieur Delobelle has taken everything."

The man comes forward without speaking, and as he approaches the window
his features can be distinguished. He is a tall, solidly built fellow
with a bronzed face, a thick, red beard, and a deep voice, and is a
little slow of speech.

"Ah! so you don't know me, Mamma