gained a spirituality, a refinement, new and touching. Madame Chalice
was tempted to go and speak to her, and started to do so, but turned
back.

"No, no, not until we know the worst of this illness--then!" she said to
herself.

But ten minutes later De la Riviere was not so kind. He had guessed a
little at Elise's secret, and as he passed the house on the way to visit
Madame Chalice, seeing the girl, he came to the door and said:

"How goes it with the distinguished gentleman, Elise? I hear you are his
slave."

The girl turned a little pale. She was passing a hot iron over some
coarse sheets, and, pausing, she looked steadily at him and replied:

"It is not far to Dalgrothe Mountain, monsieur."

"The journey's too long for me; I haven't your hot young blood," he said
suggestively.

"It was not so long a dozen years ago, monsieur." De la Riviere flushed
to his hair. That memory was a hateful chapter in his life--a boyish
folly, which involved the miller's wife. He had buried it, the village
had forgotten it,--such of it as knew,--and the remembrance of it stung
him. He had, however, brought it on himself, and he must eat the bitter
fruit.

The girl's eyes were cold and hard. She knew him to be Valmond's enemy,
and she had no idea of sparing him. She knew also that he had been
courteous enough to send a man each day to inquire after Valmond, but
that was not to the point; he was torturing her, he had prophesied the
downfall of her "spurious Napoleon."

"It will be too long a journey for you, and for all, presently," he
said.

"You mean that His Excellency will die?" she asked, her heart beating
so hard that it hurt her. Yet the flat-iron moved backwards and forwards
upon the sheets mechanically.

"Or fight a Government," he answered. "He has had a good time, and good
times can't last for ever, can they, Elise? Have you ever thought of
that?"

She turned pale and swayed over the table. In an instant he was beside
her; for though he had been irritable and ungenerous, he had at bottom a
kind heart. Catching up a glass of water, he ran an arm round her waist
and held the cup to her lips.

"What's the matter, my girl?" he asked. "There, pull yourself together."

She drew away from him, though grateful for his new attitude. She could
not bear everything. She felt nervous and strangely weak.

"Won't you go, monsieur?" she said, and turned to her ironing again.

He looked at her closely, and not unkindly.