granted, with reciprocal promises, on Bathilde's part that she would
return at seven o'clock the next evening, on the part of Mademoiselle de
Launay and Madame de Maine that every one should continue to believe
that it was Mademoiselle Berry who sung."

"But then," asked D'Harmental, "how was the secret betrayed?"

"Oh! by an unforeseen circumstance," replied Brigaud, in that strange
manner which caused one to doubt if he was in jest or earnest. "All went
off capitally, as you know, till the end of the cantata, and the proof
is, that having only heard it once, you are able to remember it from one
end to the other. At the moment the galley which brought us from the
pavilion of Aurora touched the shore, whether from emotion at having
sung for the first time in public, or that she recognized among Madame
de Maine's suite some one she had not expected to see there, for some
unknown reason, however, the poor Goddess of Night uttered a cry and
fainted in the arms of the Hours, her companions. All promises and oaths
were at once forgotten; her veil was removed to throw water in her face,
so that when I came up, while you were going away with her highness, I
was much astonished to find, instead of Mademoiselle Berry, your pretty
neighbor. I questioned Mademoiselle de Launay, and as it was impossible
any longer to keep the incognito, she told me what had passed, under the
seal of secrecy, which I have betrayed for you only, my dear pupil,
because, I do not know why, I can refuse you nothing."

"And this indisposition?" asked D'Harmental with uneasiness.

"Oh! it was nothing; a mere momentary emotion which had no bad
consequences, since, in spite of all they could say to the contrary,
Bathilde would not remain another hour at Sceaux, but insisted on
returning, so that they put a carriage at her disposal, and she ought to
have been home an hour before us."

"Then you are sure she is at home? Thanks, abbe, that is all I wished to
know."

"And now," said Brigaud, "I may go, may I not? You have no more need of
me, now that you know all you wish to know."

"I do not say so, my dear Brigaud; on the contrary, stop, you will give
me great pleasure."

"No, I thank you; I have got some business of my own to transact in the
town, and will leave you to your reflections, my dear pupil."

"When shall I see you again?" asked D'Harmental, mechanically.

"Most likely to-morrow," answered the abbe.

"Adieu till to-morrow, then."

"