t, having found a new opportunity
to exercise his mania for espionage, he had availed himself of it to
the utmost; perhaps, too, there was at the bottom of it all a vague,
carefully concealed rage against his little Chebe, the anger of a senile
passion never declared.

Claire listened to him without speaking, with a smile of incredulity.
That smile irritated the old man, spurred on his malice. "Ah! you don't
believe me. Ah! you want proofs, do you?" And he gave her proofs, heaped
them upon her, overpowered her with knife-thrusts in the heart. She had
only to go to Darches, the jeweller in the Rue de la Paix. A fortnight
before, Georges had bought a diamond necklace there for thirty thousand
francs. It was his New Year's gift to Sidonie. Thirty thousand francs
for diamonds at the moment of becoming bankrupt!

He might have talked the entire day and Claire would not have
interrupted him. She felt that the slightest effort would cause the
tears that filled her eyes to overflow, and she was determined to
smile to the end, the sweet, brave woman. From time to time she cast
a sidelong glance at the road. She was in haste to go, to fly from the
sound of that spiteful voice, which pursued her pitilessly.

At last he ceased; he had told the whole story. She bowed and walked
toward the door.

"Are you going? What a hurry you're in!" said the grandfather, following
her outside.

At heart he was a little ashamed of his savagery.

"Won't you breakfast with me?"

She shook her head, not having strength to speak.

"At least wait till the carriage is ready--some one will drive you to
the station."

No, still no.

And she walked on, with the old man close behind her. Proudly, and with
head erect, she crossed the courtyard, filled with souvenirs of her
childhood, without once looking behind. And yet what echoes of hearty
laughter, what sunbeams of her younger days were imprinted in the
tiniest grain of gravel in that courtyard!

Her favorite tree, her favorite bench, were still in the same place. She
had not a glance for them, nor for the pheasants in the aviary, nor even
for the great dog Kiss, who followed her docilely, awaiting the caress
which she did not give him. She had come as a child of the house, she
went away as a stranger, her mind filled with horrible thoughts which
the slightest reminder of her peaceful and happy past could not have
failed to aggravate.

"Good-by, grandfather."

"Good-by, then."

And the