tern. As
quarter-day came near he could see that her pretty face was clouded by
anxiety, and he could guess when Caroline had sat up late at work; but
above all, he noted how the gloomy thoughts that dimmed the cheerful
and delicate features of her young face gradually vanished by degrees
as their acquaintance ripened. When winter had killed the climbers and
plants of her window garden, and the window was kept closed, it was
not without a smile of gentle amusement that the stranger observed the
concentration of the light within, just at the level of Caroline's head.
The very small fire and the frosty red of the two women's faces betrayed
the poverty of their home; but if ever his own countenance expressed
regretful compassion, the girl proudly met it with assumed cheerfulness.

Meanwhile the feelings that had arisen in their hearts remained buried
there, no incident occurring to reveal to either of them how deep and
strong they were in the other; they had never even heard the sound of
each other's voice. These mute friends were even on their guard against
any nearer acquaintance, as though it meant disaster. Each seemed to
fear lest it should bring on the other some grief more serious than
those they felt tempted to share. Was it shyness or friendship that
checked them? Was it a dread of meeting with selfishness, or the odious
distrust which sunders all the residents within the walls of a populous
city? Did the voice of conscience warn them of approaching danger? It
would be impossible to explain the instinct which made them as much
enemies as friends, at once indifferent and attached, drawn to each
other by impulse, and severed by circumstance. Each perhaps hoped to
preserve a cherished illusion. It might almost have been thought that
the stranger feared lest he should hear some vulgar word from those lips
as fresh and pure as a flower, and that Caroline felt herself unworthy
of the mysterious personage who was evidently possessed of power and
wealth.

As to Madame Crochard, that tender mother, almost angry at her
daughter's persistent lack of decisiveness, now showed a sulky face to
the "Black Gentleman," on whom she had hitherto smiled with a sort of
benevolent servility. Never before had she complained so bitterly of
being compelled, at her age, to do the cooking; never had her catarrh
and her rheumatism wrung so many groans from her; finally, she could
not, this winter, promise so many ells of net as Caroline had