dead a year that a woman
blushes as you blush now."

"Oh!" began the Marquise, as if in protest; and then feeling that the
color was becoming even more pronounced, she was silent.

The dowager smiled, well pleased at her cleverness.

"There was sure to be some one, some day," she said, nodding
sagaciously; "when you want to talk of it I will listen, my Judithe. I
could tell it in the tone of your voice as you sang or laughed; yes,
there is nothing so wonderful in that," she explained, as the girl
looked up, startled. "You have always been a creature of aims,
serious, almost ponderous. Suddenly you emerge like sunshine from the
shadows; you are all gaiety and sudden smiles; unconsciously you
sing low songs of happiness; you suggest brightness and hope; you
have suddenly come into your long-delayed girlhood. You give me
affectionate glimpses of the woman God meant you to be some day. It
can only be a man who works such a miracle in an ascetic of nineteen
years. When the lucky fellow gathers courage to speak, I shall be
glad to pass judgment on him."

The Marquise was silent. The light, humorous tone of the dowager had
disarmed her; yet she had of her own accord, and influenced by some
wild mood, told Dumaresque all that was only guesswork to the friend
beside her. How could she have confessed it to him? She had wondered
at herself that she had dared, and after all it had been so entirely
useless; it had not driven away the memory of the man at Fontainbleau,
even for one little instant.

Madame Blanc entered with some message for the dowager, and the
question of marriage, also the more serious one of love, were put
aside for the time.

But Judithe was conscious that she was under a kindly surveillance,
and suspected that Dumaresque, also, was given extra attention. Her
confession of that unusual fascination had made them better comrades,
and the dowager was taking note that their tone was more frank, and
their attitude suggested some understanding. It was like a comedy for
her to watch them, feeling so sure that their sentiments were very
clear and that she could see the way it would all end. Judithe would
coquette with him awhile, and then it would be all very well; and it
would not be like a stranger coming into the family.

The people who came close enough to see her often, realized that the
journey back to Paris had not been beneficial to the dowager. It had
only been an experiment through which she had been l