"Come in!" called out Bijou.

She was standing in front of the glass, brushing her hair leisurely. The more she brushed, the more her hair curled, and scented the atmosphere at the same time with a delicate perfume.

"The Count de Clagny has come, mademoiselle, to ask how you are?" said the maid.

"How I am?"

"After the accident yesterday."

"Ah, yes! I had forgotten it!" And, going to the window, she asked: "Is he driving?"

"No, mademoiselle, he came on horseback; but he is in the drawing-room."

"Oh, very well, I will go down!"

As soon as the domestic had gone, Bijou slipped on another peignoir quickly. She then put on some pink kid slippers without heels, which made her little feet look delightfully droll, and with her hair hanging loosely down over the frilled collar of her long, loose dress, she ran downstairs to M. de Clagny.

On seeing her enter the room, the count rose quickly. His face looked drawn and tired, and there was a sad expression in his eyes.

"How good of you to have put yourself about to come so early on my account!" said Bijou, holding out both her hands to him. He pressed them to his lips whilst she went on: "Why, it is scarcely eight o'clock! you must have started from La NoriniÈre awfully early!"

"Don't let us trouble about me; but tell me how you are?"

"Why, I am perfectly well, thank you! You saw yesterday that I followed the paper-chase just as though I had not had any fall beforehand; and then, in the evening at the theatre, I did not look ill, did I?"

"No, not exactly ill; but at the theatre it seemed to me that you were a little excitable and nervous." And then he added sadly: "I did not see much of you though, either; you scarcely troubled about anyone but Hubert de BernÈs, and you quite forsook your poor old friend."

She got up and went to him.

"Oh! how can you imagine—" she began, in a coaxing way, but he interrupted her.

"I did not imagine, alas! I saw for myself; and I am not reproaching you, my dear little girl—young people of course prefer young people, it is quite natural!"

"Oh, no!" said Bijou, with evident sincerity; "not at all—I am not so fond as all that of young people generally; and, above all, I cannot endure young men about the age of M. de BernÈs."

"Yes, I remember that you told me that once before; you said so the first time I saw you; it was here in this room, when we were waiting together for the arrival of your guests to dinner."

Denyse laughed.

"Well, what a memory you have!"

"Always, when it is a question of you." And then, in a voice which trembled slightly, he asked: "Do you remember something you said to me yesterday?"

"Yesterday?"

"Yes, yesterday, when I was holding you in my arms, and you were nestling against me like a little trembling bird!"

Bijou appeared to be trying to remember what it was. She opened her large eyes wide, and they looked just then like pale violets.

"No, I don't know what it was; I don't remember! I was a little upset after my accident, you know!" And then, as M. de Clagny remained silent, she asked: "Tell me, what could I have said that was so interesting?"

He repeated her words slowly, watching Bijou all the time attentively, as she listened with an amused air, her pretty lips parted.

"You said, 'I am so happy like this; I should like to stay here always.'"

"I don't remember saying that; but, anyhow, I was quite right, because it was perfectly true, you know!"

He drew Bijou to him, and asked:

"Truly, would it not alarm you to see me always near you like that?"

"Why, no, it would not alarm me! Oh, no, not at all!"

"Really and truly?"

"Really and truly! but why do you ask me that?"

"Oh, for no reason at all. Do you know whether Madame de Bracieux is up yet?"

"She does not get up before half-past eight or nine o'clock, especially when she is up late like last night; it was nearly two o'clock when we came in!"

"And you are just as fresh-looking and as pretty as though you had slept all night. Really, though, I should very much like to see Madame de Bracieux."

"You want to speak to her yourself, or is it any message I can take to her from you?"

"No; I want to speak to her myself."

"Well, you know she will probably keep you waiting 'a spell,' as they say in this part of the world."

"Well, I will wait."

Bijou looked at M. de Clagny in surprise. He was pacing up and down the long room.

"What's the matter?" she asked at last, in her curiosity, "for there certainly is something the matter!"

"Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes! You keep marching backwards and forwards. That reminds me—one day I saw Paul de Rueille pacing about like that."

"I saw him, too; it was the night of the La Balue, Juzencourt & Co.'s dinner, whilst you were singing."

"No, oh, no! It was one day when he had some ridiculous duel, and he did not know whether it would be better to tell Bertrade, or not to tell her."

"And what did he do?"

"I fancy he did not tell her anything about it."

"Oh, well, he had more pluck than I have."

"Have you a duel on?" Bijou asked impetuously.

"A duel if you like to call it that; and a ridiculous one most certainly—a fight with impossibilities. You cannot understand that, my dear little Bijou."

"And you think that grandmamma will understand it better than I could?"

"I do not know! Anyhow, she will listen to me, and she will pity me."

"But I, too,—I would listen, and I would pity you."

"I should not like to be pitied by you!" he said, and the expression of his face betrayed deep suffering.

"You do not care for me, then?" she asked.

M. de Clagny made a movement forward, then stopping himself, he said, with a calmness that contrasted strangely with the troubled look in his eyes and his hoarse voice:

"Oh, yes; I do care for you. I care for you very much, indeed." And then picking up his hat, which he had put down on one of the tables, he moved quickly towards the door, which led on to the terrace. "I will wait in the park," he said, "until the marchioness can see me."

When he saw, however, that Bijou had left the drawing-room, he returned, and sank down on a chair, looking suddenly much older from the effect of some mental anxiety which was weighing on him.

The marchioness did not keep him waiting long. She entered the room, with a smile on her face.

"Well, you are an early visitor!" she began; but on seeing the worried look on her old friend's face, she asked anxiously: "Why, what is it? Whatever has happened?"

"A great misfortune."

"Tell me?"

"It is precisely for that I have come so early. You will remember that when I came here for the first time, a fortnight ago, I was admiring Bijou, and you reminded me of the fact that she was your grand-daughter, and might very well be mine?"

"Yes."

"I answered that I knew that perfectly well, but that all that was mere reasoning, and that when the heart remains young it does not listen to reason."

"I remember perfectly well! What then?"

"What then? Well, at present, I love Bijou! I love her with all my heart!"

"Absurd!" exclaimed the old lady, lifting her hands in amazement.

"You are certainly consoling!"

"Well, but—my poor, old friend, what do you want me to say? You do not expect to marry Bijou, do you?"

His eyes were moist, and his voice choked as he replied:

"No; I do not expect to! And yet, I beg you to tell your grand-daughter what I have just confessed to you. I am fifty-nine. I have twenty-four thousand pounds a year. I am neither a bad lot, nor am I utterly repulsive-looking, and I love her as no other man can love her."

"But only think that you are—"

"Thirty-eight years older than she is; it is for me that this difference of age is more to be feared. Yes, I know that, and I am willing to accept all the risks of such a disproportion."

"And she?"

"She? Well, let her decide for or against me. She is twenty-one; she is no longer a child, and she knows what she is about."

"Yes; but that does not prevent me from having a certain amount of responsibility, and—"

"Ah, you see; you are afraid that she may consent!"

"Afraid? oh, dear, no! I am quite convinced that such an ideal little creature has, about the man she dreams of for her husband, a vision of someone quite different from you."

"And, supposing, by chance—I do not expect this at all—but, supposing you were mistaken, what should you do?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing at all. And it is just this—I am afraid that you would use your influence with Bijou."

"No; I shall just tell her what I think; I ought to, under the circumstances—but nothing more."

"Then you are going to speak to her?"

"Yes."

"May I come again a little later?"

"Oh, no! give me until to-morrow. I shall not speak to her, probably, before this evening; but that need not prevent your coming to dinner if you feel inclined to. It was for the—for the answer that I was putting you off until to-morrow."

"If she should refuse, I shall go away."

"Where?"

"Oh, how can I care where?—my life will be over. I shall go and finish my days in some out-of-the-way spot."

"You talked like that some twelve years ago; and here you are to-day—I cannot say younger than then." The marchioness stopped short, and then continued, with a smile: "Why should I not say it, though? You really do seem younger to me now than you did in those days; you are perfectly astonishing, my dear friend, anyone would think you were about forty-five."

"If only it were true what you say!"

"It is, I assure you! but you know that does not alter the fact that you are fifty-nine."

M. de Clagny rose to take his leave.

"Farewell!" he said, "until to-morrow." And then, with a pathetic little smile, he added: "Or until this evening. Yes,—towards the end of the day I shall be taken with a violent desire to see her again, and I shall come as I did the day before yesterday, and Thursday, and every day."

He took Madame de Bracieux's hand in his, and clasped it nervously, as he murmured:

"For the sake of our long friendship, I beg you, be merciful to me."

---

During luncheon the marchioness seemed preoccupied, and several times M. de Jonzac asked her what she was thinking about.

"Whatever is it?" he said; "you have certainly got the blues."

"Aunt must have gone to bed very late," said Jean de Blaye. "I heard you all come in; it must have been two o'clock." And then, turning to Bijou, he asked: "And how did you enjoy yourself? was it nice?"

"Delightful," she answered, in an absent sort of way.

"That little Lisette Renaud is perfectly charming," said M. de Rueille, "with her beautiful, large sad eyes. You liked her, too, did you not, grandmamma?"

"Yes," answered Madame de Bracieux, "she is perfectly fascinating, and she has an admirable voice. I was astonished to find all that in Pont-sur-Loire; astonished, too, at the elegance of the house. There were plenty of pretty women, and very well dressed, too."

"Nearly all of them wore pink," put in Denyse, "I noticed that."

"Oh! that is through you," said M. de Rueille. "The Pont-sur-Loire ladies see you always arrayed in pink, and as you are considered by them to be tip-top, they have taken to pink, too." And seeing that Bijou looked surprised, he asked: "Well, isn't that quite clear enough?"

"It is quite clear," she answered, laughing, "but a trifle imaginary. No one pays any attention to me, my dear Paul." And then, as Madame de Rueille turned towards her, Bijou appealed to her: "What do you think about the matter, Bertrade?"

"I think that you are too modest."

"Oh, yes," said Giraud, who was gazing at the young girl with admiring eyes, "Mademoiselle Denyse is too modest. Yesterday evening everyone in the house was looking at her, and even the actress herself—"

"It's your imagination, Monsieur Giraud!" exclaimed Bijou, interrupting him hastily. "I never noticed that anyone was interested in our box; but even if they were, it does not follow necessarily that it was at me that—"

"Evidently not," remarked Henry de Bracieux, in a chaffing tone. "It was grandmamma in whom the natives were so deeply interested."

"No! but it might have been Jeanne Dubuisson."

"Yes, that's true! She is not known at all in Pont-sur-Loire, therefore the sight of her would naturally make a sensation."

Bijou shrugged her shoulders.

"You know that I have a horror of people making a fuss about me, and you say things like this all the time to tease me."

"If you have a horror of making a sensation," exclaimed Pierrot, "that great GisÈle de la Balue is not like you, I can tell you. She's one who would change places with you. Yesterday, at the paper-chase feed, she was bothering round everyone like a great meat-fly; even BernÈs sent her about her business."

"I think young BernÈs is very nice," said the marchioness. "I was noticing him all the evening yesterday, and I like him very much. He is very natural, has good manners, and is not by any means stupid."

Jean de Blaye noticed that Bijou was screwing up her lips into a little pout of indifference.

"You don't appear to be of the same opinion as grandmamma?" he said.

"Oh, dear me! Yes, I am."

"Well, you are not enthusiastic; you may as well own it."

"Why, yes, I own it."

The marchioness turned to her grand-daughter:

"Ah! and what have you against him?"

"Why, nothing, grandmamma, nothing at all! I think he is just like everyone else, and so when I see him I can't go into ecstasies over him—that's all."

"I fancy," remarked M. de Rueille, "that the man isn't born yet about whom you would go into ecstasies. You are very good-hearted, very indulgent. You look upon everyone as all very well in a negative sort of way, but, practically, it is quite another matter."

"Oh, you exaggerate!"

"I exaggerate? Well, then, just mention one man, one only, who is according to your fancy."

"Why, M. de Clagny, for instance!"

"You think he is nice; you like him?" said the marchioness. "Yes, but how? You would not marry him, I presume?"

"Oh, no!" answered Bijou, laughing, "I don't want to marry him."

Just as they were all leaving the table, Jean de Blaye asked:

"Has anyone any commissions for Pont-sur-Loire?"

"What!" exclaimed Bijou, in surprise, "you are going off to Pont-sur-Loire like that, all by yourself? Why, whatever are you going to do there, I wonder?"

"What am I going to do there?" he said, slightly disconcerted. "Why, I have some things to get."

"Will you take me?"

"Take you? But—"

Ever since the evening when he had told Bijou that he loved her, he had avoided, as much as possible, all opportunities of being alone with her. She, on her part, had not changed her behaviour towards him or Henry de Bracieux in any way. She was just as free and cordial in her manner with them as she had been before refusing them her hand; and, indeed, it seemed as though she had forgotten they had proposed to her.

"What?"—she asked, looking astonished. "You won't take me with you?"

Thoroughly uncomfortable, and dreading the long tÊte-À-tÊte, yet not daring in the presence of all the others to refuse to take Bijou, he answered, in a joking tone:

"Why, yes! On the contrary, I am highly flattered by the honour you are doing me!"

"That's all right, then. You are very kind."

"Oh, very; but, all the same, you will have to take someone else to be with you as well, because I have some business."

"Oh!" said Denyse, in a disappointed tone, "you don't want me with you when we get there."

"But, Bijou, my dear," put in Madame de Bracieux, "you could not, anyhow, go there—just you two! It does not matter if Jean is your first cousin; it would not be the thing, you know! You must take Josephine with you; and even then I don't know whether I ought to allow it—"

"But whatever do you want to do in Pont-sur-Loire?" she added, after a pause.

"Oh, only some errands, grandmamma; you forget that there are always errands to be done for the house. And then, too, I can go and see Jeanne; it is just the day when M. Spiegel is busy and does not go so that I shall not interrupt their billing and cooing."

"It does not seem to me as though they do much billing and cooing!" said M. de Jonzac. "I was watching them yesterday at the paper-chase, and I'm very much mistaken if that engagement is not a very half-and-half sort of affair."

"But why should you think that, Uncle Alexis?" asked Bijou, looking troubled.

"Because the girl looks sad, and the professor indifferent. Haven't you noticed that?"

"No; but then I don't notice things much," she answered.

---

On the way from Bracieux to Pont-sur-Loire, Bijou and Jean were silent.

In the town just near the station, they met Madame de NÉzel, who had come in from The Pines by the half-past two train. On seeing her, Bijou made a little movement, and was just about to speak to her cousin, but, on second thoughts, she said nothing, and only looked up at him, with a sweet expression in her bright eyes. Jean, feeling awkward and confused, had pretended not to see Madame de NÉzel, and she, instead of going on into the centre of the town, had turned down a narrow street, by some waste ground and gardens. As she got out of the carriage with Josephine at the Dubuissons' door, Bijou asked:

"Where shall I find you? And at what time?"

"At the hotel; I will tell them to put the horse in at six o'clock if that will suit you?"

"At six o'clock!" she exclaimed, in astonishment. "Oh, well! you must have plenty of things to do! Three hours and a half of shopping in Pont-sur-Loire!"

Impatient and wishing above all things to escape Bijou's innocent questioning, Jean offered to start earlier, but she refused.

"Oh, no! why should you? I shall be delighted to stay as long as you wish with Jeanne!"

Mademoiselle Dubuisson was at home. Denyse thought she looked sad, and her eyes had dark circles round them.

"What is the matter now?" she asked. "There's something wrong."

"Yes, things are not quite right."

"Is—your fiancÉ?"

"Oh, it's just the same."

"Which means——"

"That I think he has got—well—a little cool. But there is something else that has upset me to-day."

"What is it?"

"Oh, well! it is an event that really does not concern me at all; but it has made me feel wretched all the same." She avoided looking at Bijou as she continued: "You know that—Lisette Renaud?"

"Yes. Well?"

"Well, she is dead—this morning."

"Dead!—What of?"

"People think she killed herself," said Jeanne, almost in a whisper.

"But how?"

"By taking morphia. You know they could not go into details before me, but I understood, from what they were saying, that it was after an explanation she had had with M. de BernÈs."

"When?"

"Yesterday after the theatre, or else this morning. Papa and M. Spiegel were talking of it at luncheon; but in a vague sort of way, so that I should not understand."

"How fearfully sad!—I can quite understand that it should have upset you."

"Yes; it is only natural, and all the more so as, just now, troubles from love affairs touch me very nearly—and for a good reason!" she added, with a sad little smile.

"That poor little actress!" said Bijou, in a tone of regret. "As a rule, I don't care much for women who are on the stage, but this one seemed to be nice, and then, she really did sing well—it is a pity!—M. de BernÈs must be wretched!"

"Do you think people really are so wretched when they cause others to suffer?" asked Jeanne, still not looking at Bijou. "I don't think they are! There are the thoughtless people, who make others suffer without knowing it, and then there are the others, who cause people to suffer because it amuses them; and neither the former nor the latter know what it is to feel remorse—"

As Jeanne stood still, lost in thought, a far-away look in her eyes, Bijou stroked her friend's face gently.

"There, don't think any more about these sad things, Jeanne, dear," she said. "Your grief won't change anything when the mischief is already done, and you are making yourself wretched all in vain. Come, now, let us talk about our play, and about dress, or no matter what—oh! by the bye, about dress, does yours fit well at last?"

"It fits; but it does not suit me!"

"Oh, that's impossible!"

"No, it's very natural, on the contrary! I have not your complexion, remember! I am paler than you are, and that pink makes me paler still; and then I am thin, and the little gathered bodice, which shows up your pretty figure to perfection, makes me look no figure at all—it does not matter, though—it's of no importance whatever!"

"What do you mean by saying it is of no importance?"

"Why, yes, don't you see, Bijou dear, that whether one is well or badly dressed, if one is just common-place as I am, one would always pass unnoticed by the side of anyone as beautiful as you are."

Bijou turned her eyes up towards the ceiling, and said, in a half-serious, half-joking way:

"My poor dear child, you are wandering—you don't know at all what you are talking about!" And then suddenly changing her tone she asked: "What time do you start to the races to-morrow?"

"I don't know. Papa will have arranged that with M. Spiegel. Ah, tell me! shall you go early to the Tourvilles' dance? I don't want to get there before you."

Denyse was looking at her watch.

"Oh! I must go!" she exclaimed. "They want some gardenias at home for button-holes; I don't know where I shall be able to get any; someone told me of a florist up by the station somewhere."

"By the station? but there are only market-gardeners there, no florists."

"Yes, it seems that in that little lane—you know—to the right of the quay—"

"Lilac Lane, I know where you mean; but there are only vegetable gardens there, and some waste ground, and then a few small houses, that are generally rented by officers because they are near to the barracks."

"Well, anyhow," said Bijou, getting up, "I'll go and look round there!"

---

Denyse was the first to arrive at the hotel. Jean de Blaye was rather behind time, and when he did appear, he looked sad, and his face was very pale. He had met Madame de NÉzel by appointment, but she had only come to break off entirely with him, and this freedom was of no use to him now; but, at the same time, there was nothing left for him to do but accept his fate. They were both wretched and discontented with each other, and yet they had been obliged to stay together at their trysting-place, because Bijou, escorted by the old housekeeper Josephine, had been rambling up and down the lonely lane for a good part of the afternoon. She had gone backwards and forwards as though in search of something, and with a persistency which Jean could not understand, and which made him feel very uneasy.

When they were driving across the square by the station at three o'clock, she had, perhaps, seen Madame de NÉzel turning down Lilac Lane. If that were so, she had probably wanted to assure herself whether her suspicions were correct. How inquisitive and fond of ferreting she must be, then—this Denyse whom he loved so dearly, and who had, without knowing it, ruined his whole life.

He apologised for his unpunctuality, and helped Bijou into the carriage, whilst she assured him in the sweetest way that he was not late at all.

Just as he was wondering how he could ask her what she had been doing, she volunteered the information he wanted.

"Do you know you will have your gardenias for to-morrow after all? But it has been difficult to get them. I have been running about all over Pont-sur-Loire nearly all the afternoon. They sent me to the queerest little streets, where I got lost, and never found the place at all."

Delighted at this proof of Bijou's innocence, Jean exclaimed involuntarily:

"Ah! that was what you were hanging about for in Lilac Lane?"

She fixed her large astonished eyes on him, as she asked:

"However did you know? Did you see me?"

"I did not," he answered quickly; "one of my friends told me."

"Who was it? Do I know him—your friend?"

"I don't think so; he's an officer in BernÈs' regiment. Ah, by the bye, what do you think! The poor little actress you heard last night—well, she has killed herself!"

"Yes, I know; it is a great pity!"

Bijou said this in a tone which made it impossible to continue the conversation on this topic. She was so dignified, and her meaning was so plain, that Jean almost regretted having said a word to her of this affair, considering that it was a trifle delicate; but, after all, as he said to himself, Bijou was no child; she would soon be twenty-two!

---

At four o'clock, M. de Clagny arrived at Bracieux, his heart beating fast at the thought of seeing Bijou again, and of seeing her quite free and unconstrained as usual, for she would not yet know of his proposal.

He was very much disappointed on hearing that she was at Pont-sur-Loire, and that she had gone there with Jean. He asked the marchioness to tell him candidly just what she thought would be the result of his advances with reference to the young girl, and Madame de Bracieux replied that she could not approach the subject now, as Denyse had declared to them all that very morning that "she thought M. de Clagny charming, but that she should not like to marry him."

He stood the shock fairly well, but insisted that Bijou should be told that evening of his proposal. She would then have until the next day to think it over, and that was what he wished.

Denyse and Jean returned just at dinner-time. When they came downstairs, everyone was at the table, and the topic of conversation was the death of poor Lisette Renaud.

M. de Rueille had been out riding, and had met some officers, who were on duty there, and who had, of course, told him the story.

"It is fearful," said Bertrade, "to think of that poor girl killing herself; she was so pretty, and so young."

"It is just because one is young that one would commit suicide, if unhappy; otherwise one would have to go on being wretched for so long a time," said Giraud in a strange voice, which resounded in the spacious dining-room.

---