he found that there was
no one but Nanette, Bathilde burst into tears. Nanette had expected to
see her young mistress return proud and joyous at the triumph which she
could not fail to obtain, and was distressed to see her in this state,
but to all her questions Bathilde replied that it was nothing,
absolutely nothing. Nanette saw that it was no use to insist, and went
to her room, which was next to Bathilde's, but could not resist the
impulse of curiosity, and looking through the key-hole, she saw her
young mistress kneel down before her little crucifix, and then, as by a
sudden impulse, run to the window, open it, and look opposite. Nanette
doubted no longer, Bathilde's grief was somehow connected with her love,
and it was caused by the young man who lived opposite. Nanette was more
easy; women pity these griefs, but they also know that they may come to
a good end. Nanette went to sleep much more easy than if she had not
been able to find out the cause of Bathilde's tears.

Bathilde slept badly; the first griefs and the first joys of love have
the same results. She woke therefore with sunken eyes and pale cheeks.
Bathilde would have dispensed with seeing Buvat, but he had already
asked for her twice, so she took courage, and went smiling to speak to
him. Buvat, however, was not deceived; he could not fail to notice her
pale cheeks, and Bathilde's grief was revealed to him. She denied that
there was anything the matter. Buvat pretended to believe her, but went
to the office very uneasy and anxious to know what could have happened
to her.

When he was gone, Nanette approached Bathilde, who was sitting in her
chair with her head leaning on her hand, and stood an instant before
her, contemplating her with an almost maternal love; then, finding that
Bathilde did not speak, she herself broke silence.

"Are you suffering still, mademoiselle?" said she.

"Yes, my good Nanette."

"If you would open the window, I think it would do you good."

"Oh! no, Nanette, thank you, the window must remain closed."

"You do not know perhaps, mademoiselle?"

"Yes, yes, Nanette, I know."

"That the young man opposite returned this morning--"

"Well, Nanette?" said Bathilde, raising her head and looking at her with
severity, "what is that to me?"

"Pardon, mademoiselle," said Nanette, "but I thought--"

"What did you think?"

"That you regretted his absence, and would be glad of his return."

"You were wrong."

"Pardon, made