n the far distance and wakening sounds go by in the
growing light. She flies in dismay from the room, not caring so much as
to take with her the brief of her intended revenge.

Revenge herself now? On whom? and what for? There was an end of her
hatred now, for had she not her love? From this day she was another
woman, such an one as when she is seen with her lover or her husband,
supporting her unhasty steps upon the tender cradle of his arm, makes
the common people say, 'Well, _she_ has got what she wants.' There are
not so many of them as people think, particularly in society. Not that
the mistress of a great house could be thinking exclusively of her own
happiness; there were guests going away and other guests arriving and
settling in, a second instalment, more numerous and less intimate,
the whole in fact of the Academic set. There were the Duke de
Courson-Launay, the Prince and Princess de Fitz-Roy, the De Circourts,
the Huchenards, Saint-Avol the diplomatist, Moser and his daughter, Mr.
and Mrs. Henry of the American embassy. It was a hard task to provide
entertainment and occupation for all these people and to fuse such
different elements. No one understood the business better than she, but
just now it was a burden and a weariness to her. She would have liked to
keep quiet and meditate on her happiness, to think of nothing else: and
she could devise no other amusements for her guests than the invariable.
visit to the fish preserves, to Ronsard's castle, and to the Orphanage.
Her own pleasure was complete when her hand touched Paul's, as accident
brought them together in the same boat or the same carriage.

In the course of one such pompous expedition on the river, the little
fleet from Mousseaux, sailing on a shimmering mirror of silken awnings
and ducal pennons, had gone somewhat further than usual. Paul Astier was
in the boat in front of his lady's. He was sitting in the stern beside
Laniboire, and was receiving the Academician's confidences. Having been
invited to stay at Mousseaux till his report was finished, the old fool
fancied that he was making good progress towards the coveted succession;
and as always happens in such cases, he chose Paul as the confidant of
his hopes. After telling him what he had said and what she had answered,
and one thing and another, he was just saying, 'Now, young man, what
would you do, if you were me?' when a clear voice of low pitch rang over
the water from the boat behind the