She heard nothing. The
clock struck half-past three.

Unable to suppress her growing terror, and clinging to a last hope,
Adrienne returned towards the fireplace and rang the bell. After which
she endeavored to compose her features, so as to betray no outward sign
of emotion. In a few seconds, a gray-haired footman, dressed in black,
opened the door, and waited in respectful silence for the orders of his
mistress. The latter said to him, in a calm voice, "Andrew, request Hebe
to give you the smelling bottle that I left on the chimney-piece in my
room, and bring it me here." Andrew bowed; but just as he was about to
withdraw to execute Adrienne's orders, which was only a pretext to enable
her to ask a question without appearing to attach much importance to it
in her servant's eyes, already informed of the expected visit of the
prince, Mdlle. de Cardoville added, with an air of indifference. "Pray,
is that clock right?"

Andrew drew out his watch, and replied as he cast his eyes upon it, "Yes,
mademoiselle. I set my watch by the Tuileries. It is more than half past
three."

"Very well--thank you!" said Adrienne kindly.

Andrew again bowed; but, before going out, he said to Adrienne, "I forgot
to tell you, lady, that Marshal Simon called about an hour ago; but, as
you were only to be at home to Prince Djalma, we told him that you
received no company."

"Very well," said Adrienne. With another low bow, Andrew quitted the
room, and all returned to silence.

For the precise reason that, up to the last minute of the hour previous
to the time fixed for her interview with Djalma, the hopes of Adrienne
had not been disturbed by the slightest shadow of doubt, the
disappointment she now felt was the more dreadful. Casting a desponding
look at one of the portraits placed above her, she murmured, with a
plaintive and despairing accent, "Oh, mother!"

Hardly had Mdlle. de Cardoville uttered the words than the windows were
slightly shaken by a carriage rolling into the courtyard. The young lady
started, and was unable to repress a low cry of joy. Her heart bounded at
the thought of meeting Djalma, for this time she felt that he was really
come. She was quite as certain of it as if she had seen him. She resumed
her seat and brushed away a tear suspended from her long eyelashes. Her
hand trembled like a leaf. The sound of several doors opening and
shutting proved that the young lady was right in her conjecture. The
gilded panels