Bijou was in the dining-room, arranging the flowers on the table for dinner, whilst in the butler's pantry the servants were polishing up the large silver dishes until they shone brilliantly.

"Get into your coat!" said the butler to the footman; "there's a carriage coming slowly up the avenue. Oh, you've got plenty of time, it isn't here yet."

"Whose carriage is it?" said the footman, looking through the window.

"I don't know it; it's a fine-looking turn-out, anyhow. It might very well be the owner of The NoriniÈre."

"My goodness! it's a clinking turn-out."

"Oh, he can afford it."

"He's got some money, then?"

"Why, yes, an awful lot; he's got about sixteen thousand a year."

"Do you know him, then?"

"My wife was kitchen-maid at his place before I married her—a good master he is, always pleasant, and not at all near—you'd better start now if you want to get to the steps before he's there."

A minute before, Bijou, finding that she was short of flowers, had run out into the garden, and, springing across the path, had pushed her way into the middle of a rose-bed, and was now cutting away mercilessly. She was so absorbed that she did not hear the carriage, which was coming up the drive, and which went round the lawn, and pulled up in front of the stone steps. When at last she did happen to look up, she saw, a few steps away from her, a tall gentleman standing gazing at her with a most rapturous expression.

The fact was that Bijou, in her cotton dress, with wide pink stripes, and her little apron trimmed with Valenciennes, was really very pretty to look at, foraging about amongst the flowers.

When she discovered that she was being gazed at in this way, her tea-rose complexion took a deeper tint, and she looked confused and embarrassed, as she stood there facing the gentleman, who was still contemplating her without saying a word.

He was a man of between fifty-five and sixty, tall, slender, distinguished-looking, and elegant, and with a very young-looking figure for his years. His face, which was intelligent and refined, had also an almost youthful expression about it, just tinged with a shade of melancholy. As Bijou remained where she was, and appeared to be hesitating and not quite at her ease, the visitor approached, and, raising his hat, said in a very gentle voice:

"Excuse me, mademoiselle, but are you not Denyse de Courtaix?"

Bijou, with her frank, honest expression, looked straight into the eyes fixed so curiously upon her, and answered, smiling:

"Yes, and you?—you are Monsieur de Clagny, are you not?"

"How did you know?"

Denyse sprang out of the rose-bed on to the garden-path, and then, without answering the question in a direct way, she said, with the most trusting, happy look in her eyes:

"Oh! how glad grandmamma will be to see you, and Uncle Alexis, too; ever since they heard that you were coming back to live here, they have talked of nothing else. Let's go at once to find grandmamma."

She started off, leading the way, looking most graceful and supple, as she passed through the large rooms with that gliding movement which was one of her greatest charms.

The marchioness was not in the room where she was usually to be found. Bijou rang the bell, and requested the servant to find Madame de Bracieux. She then took a seat opposite M. de Clagny, and examined him attentively.

"Paul de Rueille was quite right after all," she said, "when he told me that I had seen you long ago—I recognise you." She gazed with her bright eyes more fixedly into the count's, and repeated pensively: "I certainly do recognise you."

"Well, I confess, in all sincerity," said M. de Clagny, "that if I had met you anywhere else than at Bracieux, I should not have recognised you—you are so much bigger, you know, and then, so much more beautiful that, with the exception of the lovely violet eyes, which have not changed, there is nothing remaining of the little baby-girl of years ago."

"The name which you gave me still remains."

"The name? what name?" he asked, in surprise.

"Bijou! don't you remember? it seems that it was you who used to call me that."

"Yes, that's true! you seemed to me such a fragile little thing, so adorable and so rare—a bijou in fact, an exquisite little bijou. And so they have continued to call you by that name—it suits you, too, wonderfully well."

"I don't think so! I am afraid it is rather ridiculous to be still Bijou at the age of twenty-one, for, you know, I am twenty-one now."

"Is it possible?"

"Very possible! in four years from now I shall be quite an old maid!"

The count looked at Bijou with an admiration which he did not attempt to dissimulate, as he answered emphatically:

"You an old maid? oh, never in the world, never!"

Madame de Bracieux was just entering the room.

"How glad I am to see you!" she said, looking delighted, and holding out her hands to her visitor.

As Denyse was moving towards the door, the marchioness called her back.

"I see Bijou has introduced herself," she said to Clagny, who had not yet got over his admiration, "What do you think of my grand-daughter?" And then, without giving him time to answer, she went on quickly: "It's just the same Bijou you used to admire years ago, just the same! the genuine Bijou, there's no sham about it, as my grandsons would say."

"Mademoiselle Denyse is charming."

"Denyse (and, by the way, you will oblige me by not calling her mademoiselle) is a dear, good girl, obedient and devoted. Her gaiety has brightened up my old house, which was gloomy enough before her arrival."

"How is it that I have never seen Mademoiselle Denyse——"

"Mademoiselle again!"

"That I have never seen Bijou in Paris? I come so regularly on your day."

"Yes, but you always come very early, at an hour when she is never there, and then for the last sixteen years you have never dined with us."

"I never dine out anywhere, you know; but you have never spoken of Bijou, never told me anything about her."

"Because you have never asked me about her."

"I had forgotten about her, to tell the truth, the tiny, baby-child that I saw so little of, and yet just now, when I saw a delicious girl emerging from a rose-bed, I hadn't the slightest hesitation, had I, mademoiselle?" and then correcting himself, he added, laughing: "had I, Bijou?"

"Yes, that's true! M. de Clagny asked me at once if I were not Denyse de Courtaix——and I, too, knew at once who he was; I had heard so much about him that I seemed to know him in my imagination, and, it's very odd—" She broke off suddenly, and then after gazing thoughtfully at the count, she added: "I knew him in my imagination just as he is in reality."

"A very old man," said Clagny, with a kind of sad playfulness.

"No!" replied Bijou, evidently sincere, "a very handsome man!" And then abruptly breaking off, she said: "And Uncle Alexis has not appeared yet; they have rung the bell with all their might in vain, for he doesn't come; I'll go and find him!"

She was hurrying away when the marchioness called her back:

"Stop a minute!—have another place laid at table. You will dine with us, Clagny?"

"Yes, if you have no one here."

"Oh, but I have; I am just expecting some friends of yours."

"And I am a regular bear, for I do not even dine with my friends; and then, too, in this get-up—"

"Your get-up is all right, and, besides, there is time to send to The NoriniÈre for your coat if you particularly care to have it."

"I do care to, if I stay."

Bijou approached, and said, in a coaxing way:

"You will stay—and do you know what would be very, very nice of you? well, it would be to stay just as you are, without your dress-coat."

"Why do you insist, Bijou, if it annoys him to stay without dressing?" asked the marchioness.

"Because, grandmamma, if M. de Clagny were to dine without his dress-coat, M. Giraud could, too; and otherwise he will have to dine all by himself in his room."

"What are you talking about, child?"

"Why, it's very simple. M. Giraud has no dress-coat; he hasn't one at all. I got to know it by chance; he told Baptiste just now that he was not very well, and that he should not leave his room this evening, and so, if M. de Clagny would stay just as he is, don't you see, he could, too—M. Giraud, I mean."

"What a good little Bijou you are!" said the marchioness, quite touched; "you think of everyone; you do nothing but find ways of giving pleasure to all."

Denyse was not listening to this. She was waiting for the count to give his consent.

"Would it be a great, great pleasure to you," he asked at length, "if this Monsieur Giraud could dine at table?"

"Yes."

"Then it shall be as you wish. Tell me, though, now, who is this gentleman with whom I am not acquainted, and for whose sake I am consenting to appear as a most ill-bred man?"

"He is Pierrot's coach."

"Ah! and what's this Pierrot?"

"The son of Alexis," said Madame de Bracieux laughing.

"Then the god to whom I am to be sacrificed is M. Giraud, tutor to Pierrot de Jonzac, and he is honoured by the patronage of Mademoiselle Denyse. Thank you, I like to know how things are."

"But," protested Denyse, turning very red, "I do not patronise M. Giraud at all. I——"

"Oh, do not attempt to defend yourself. I know what kind of a role a poor tutor without a dress-coat must play in the life of a beautiful young lady like you; it is just a role of no account; he represents as exactly as possible a gentleman of no importance in a play."

"You have no idea," said the marchioness, when Denyse had gone away, "how good that child is. This young man in whom she is interested, and who, by the bye, is really charming, is always treated by her exactly on the same footing as the most influential and the most distinguished men she meets. Oh, she is a pearl, is Bijou; you will see!"

"I shall see it perhaps too clearly."

"How do you mean—too clearly?"

"I am very susceptible, you know. I have a foolish old heart, which sounds an alarm at the slightest danger, and which afterwards I cannot silence again."

"But Bijou is my grand-daughter, my poor old friend."

"Well, what difference does that make?"

"Why, just this—that she might be yours."

"I know all that well enough. Good heavens!—that is what you might call reasoning; and hearts that remain young either reason very little or very badly."

"And so?"

"Oh," said M. de Clagny, making an effort to laugh, "I was joking, of course."

---

Bijou had crossed the court-yard. The heat was very great, and the peacocks, perched on the trunk of a tree that had been felled, looked stupid and ridiculous, whilst the dogs, lying on their sides, with their legs stretched out, were panting under the sun's rays, but were too lazy to look for any shade.

No one was out of doors at that torrid hour, except Pierrot, who, arrayed in a white linen suit, with a wide straw hat on his head, was strolling about under the chestnut trees, which formed a V shaped avenue.

Denyse ran up the steps, and entered the schoolroom like a gust of wind. On the threshold, however, she stopped short, and seemed confused. M. Giraud, who had been seated at the table, had risen hastily on seeing her appear.

"Oh! I beg your pardon," she stammered out, "I wanted to speak to Pierrot. I thought he was here, and that you had gone for your walk."

Very much embarrassed, the young tutor could scarcely find any words with which to reply.

"No, mademoiselle, no! I am here you see. It is just the contrary, for Pierrot has gone out, but, if you like, if I could tell him what—for—you have something to say to him probably?"

He lost his head completely as he looked at her standing there. She was so pretty with her complexion, still pink and white, in spite of the terrible heat, and her large eyes, with their changing expression, were fixed on him with such a gentle look.

"Yes, certainly," she said, slightly embarrassed too, "I wanted to speak to Pierrot; although it is about something that concerns you—it would be better——"

"Something which concerns me?" interrupted Giraud, looking uneasy; "but I do not know really—I wonder what——"

The thought flashed across him that she was perhaps going to say that, after what had taken place the night before last, he could not remain any longer at Bracieux. He was in despair, for not only would he have to leave Bijou, but he would probably get no employment for the next two months, just as he had thought to have a little peace and comfort.

The young girl was looking at him, and smiling kindly.

"You see, it is very difficult to say it to—to the person concerned," she answered at length.

"Well, but—Pierrot."

"Oh! Pierrot is not a very clever diplomatist, I grant, but he would have known better than I do how to go about things in order to announce to you——"

"To announce to me?"

"The fact that you are going to dine with us this evening. A headache, you know, is a very good excuse for women, but only for women."

"But, mademoiselle, without taking into account the annoyance it would be to me (and it would annoy me very much) not to be dressed as the others are, it would not be polite towards your guests."

"Yes, you are perhaps right; it would not be the thing, perhaps, if you were the only one who was not in evening dress; but there will be M. de Clagny just as he is now, to pay a call; so you understand."

"Mademoiselle, I caught sight of M. de Clagny just now when he arrived. He is an old gentleman, and as such can take liberties about certain matters which I, particularly in my position, could not."

"As to you, you are just going to obey grandmamma like a good little boy, for it was grandmamma who sent me, you know."

"Ah!" murmured the young man, disappointed, "it was your grandmamma? I was hoping it was you, who—but you are still vexed with me, of course?"

"Vexed with you?" she asked, surprised; "what for?"

"Well—because—oh, you know—the other evening—when, in spite of myself, I——"

Bijou's merry face clouded over as she said very seriously:

"I thought that would never be brought up again. I wish you to forget what you said to me." She stood still a moment, with a pensive look on her beautiful face, and then she added, in a muffled voice: "And, above all, I wish to forget it myself."

Her eyelids were lowered, and her eyelashes were beating quickly against her pink cheeks throwing a strange shadow over her brilliant complexion.

Giraud went up to her, anxious and excited, and in a stammering voice he asked:

"Is it true what you have just said? Do you still remember that moment of madness? Can you think of it without anger?"

"Yes," she answered, gazing full at him with her beautiful blue eyes, "I think of it without anger," and then, in such a low voice that he could scarcely hear it, she murmured, "and I do think of it all the time!" Then, with a sudden change of expression, she began again hurriedly: "It is you who must forget now; you must forget at once—what I ought never to have said to you! Please forget it! Do as I ask you, for my sake!"

"Forget? How do you think that I can forget? You know well enough that it is absolutely impossible!"

"You must, though!" she persisted. "Yes, you must say to yourself that you—that we have had a dream—a very bright, happy dream,—one of those sort from which one wakes up happy, and, at the same time, troubled; a dream in which one has a vision of beautiful things, which disappear, and which we cannot possibly define. Have you never had such dreams? One cannot, no matter how much one tries, remember all about them; and yet—one likes them."

Her voice, with its caressing intonation, completely unnerved the young man. He had taken his seat again mechanically at the table, and, without replying, he looked up at Bijou, his eyes full of tears.

She came nearer, and said in a beseeching tone:

"Ah! please don't, if you only knew how wretched it makes me—" and then she added abruptly: "and if it is any consolation to you—you can say to yourself that you are not the only one to suffer—for I do, too."

"Is it really, really true?" he asked, bewildered with his happiness.

Denyse did not answer. She had just noticed on the table a letter, which Giraud had been finishing when she entered the room.

"I was writing to my brother," he said, following the direction of her eyes, "and instead of telling him about my pupil, and my occupations, and, in short, about such things as, in my position of life, I ought to confine myself to, I have only told him about you."

"I was looking at your name," she answered, pointing with her rosy finger to the signature; "Fred—it is a name I am fond of; I gave it to my little godchild, the youngest of Bertrade's children." She seemed to be looking far away through the open window as she repeated very gently: "Fred!" And then passing her little hand over her forehead, and walking towards the door, she said abruptly: "And this dinner—and my flowers for the table,—why, the menus are not written yet, and it is five o'clock!" And then, as the poor fellow looked stupefied and did not attempt to move, she went on: "It's settled about this evening, is it not? I shall have your place laid?"

He answered, in a vague, bewildered way, coming gradually to himself again:

"Amongst all the others in dress-coats, I shall cut the most ridiculous figure."

"Oh, no,—nothing of the kind! Besides, they will not all be in dress-coats. First of all, there is M. de Clagny in a frock-coat; and then M. de BernÈs, who is afraid of meeting his General, and so is always arrayed in his uniform: then the abbÉ in his cassock," and with a laugh she concluded: "That makes three of them who will not be in dress-coats!"

---

As she was leaving the schoolroom, she ran against Henry de Bracieux, who was coming towards her in the corridor.

"Well, I never!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"And you?"

"I? Why, I was going back to my room."

"And I was coming away from Pierrot's."

"Pierrot is in the garden."

"I did not know, and I had something to say to him."

"To him?" asked the young man suspiciously, and almost aggressively, "or to M. Giraud?"

Without appearing to notice her cousin's singular attitude towards her, she answered, in a docile way:

"To him, so that he might repeat it to M. Giraud, but as he was not there——"

"It is to Giraud that you have——"

"Given grandmamma's message. Yes," and then, with an innocent expression in her eyes, she asked: "Why does it interest you so much to know whether I gave this message to the one rather than to the other?"

He replied, in a joking tone, but with some embarrassment:

"Because I am inquisitive, probably; and the proof that I am inquisitive is that I should like to know what this message was."

"Grandmamma commissioned me to tell M. Giraud, who has no dress-coat——"

"No dress-coat—Giraud?"

"No."

"Not a dress-coat at all?"

"There, you say just what I did. No, not a dress-coat of any description! He had sent word that he would not dine with us; and then, as M. de Clagny is staying to dinner, and he is in a frock-coat, I was going to tell Pierrot, so that he could let M. Giraud know. Do you understand now?"

"Yes," replied Henry, "quite well—but Jean is very chic and never goes about without a change of dress-coats; he has, at least, three here; he would certainly lend him one—they are exactly the same figure."

"That would be nice!"

"Oh, he would be glad to do it! Giraud is a very nice fellow; we should all like him, if——"

He stopped short, and Bijou asked:

"If what?"

"Oh, nothing! I'll go and see about this business—at old Clagny's time of life it doesn't matter whether one is got up all right or not; but for Giraud, it's another thing. I am sure he would feel it very much if he thought he looked ridiculous, especially——"

"Especially?"

"Especially before you!"

Bijou shrugged her shoulders, and ran away down the long corridor.

---