ooped down before a cabinet, and took out a small opera glass. With
this she returned to the window, put it to her eyes, and again spent
some moments in looking seaward. The purpose of this proceeding
Josephine could not make out. The only result visible to her was that
her mistress suddenly dropped the lorgnette on the table, and sank down
on an armchair, covering her face with her hands.

Josephine could contain her wonderment no longer. She hurried down to
the kitchen.

'Valentine,' said she to the cook, 'what on earth can be the matter with
Madame? She will have no dinner, she is drinking brandy by the glassful,
a moment ago she was looking out to sea with a lorgnette, and now she is
crying dreadfully with an open letter in her lap.'

The cook looked up from her potato-peeling with a significant wink.

'What can it be,' said she, 'but that monsieur returns?'

II.

At six o'clock, Josephine and Valentine were still sitting together,
discussing the probable causes and consequences of the event hinted at
by the latter. Suddenly Madame Bernier's bell rang. Josephine was only
too glad to answer it. She met her mistress descending the stairs,
combed, cloaked, and veiled, with no traces of agitation, but a very
pale face.

'I am going out,' said Madame Bernier; 'if M. le Vicomte comes, tell him
I am at my mother-in-law's, and wish him to wait till I return.'

Josephine opened the door, and let her mistress pass; then stood
watching her as she crossed the court.

'Her mother-in-law's,' muttered the maid; 'she has the face!'

When Hortense reached the street, she took her way, not through the
town, to the ancient quarter where that ancient lady, her husband's
mother, lived, but in a very different direction. She followed the
course of the quay, beside the harbor, till she entered a crowded
region, chiefly the residence of fishermen and boatmen. Here she raised
her veil. Dusk was beginning to fall. She walked as if desirous to
attract as little observation as possible, and yet to examine narrowly
the population in the midst of which she found herself. Her dress was so
plain that there was nothing in her appearance to solicit attention;
yet, if for any reason a passer by had happened to notice her, he could
not have helped being struck by the contained intensity with which she
scrutinized every figure she met. Her manner was that of a person
seeking to recognize a long-lost friend, or perhaps, rather, a long-lost