At lunch-time Rosalie seemed greatly surprised. “Madame surely went for a long walk!” said she. “Why do you think so?” asked Hélène. “Because madame is eating with such an appetite. It is long since madame ate so heartily.” It was true; she was very hungry; with her sudden relief she had felt her stomach empty. She experienced a feeling of intense peace and content. After the shocks of these last two days a stillness fell upon her spirit, her limbs relaxed and became as supple as though she had just left a bath. The only sensation that remained to her was one of heaviness somewhere, an indefinable load that weighed upon her. When she returned to her bedroom her eyes were at once directed towards the clock, the hands of which pointed to twenty-five minutes past twelve. Juliette’s assignation was for three o’clock. Two hours and a half must still elapse. She made the reckoning mechanically. Moreover, she was in no hurry; the hands of the clock were moving on, and no one in the world could stop them. She left things to their own accomplishment. A child’s cap, long since begun, was lying unfinished on the table. She took it up and began to sew at the window. The room was plunged in unbroken silence. Jeanne had seated herself in her usual place, but her arms hung idly beside her. “Mamma,” she said, “I cannot work; it’s no fun at all.” “Well, my darling, don’t do anything. Oh! wait a minute, you can thread my needles!” In a languid way the child silently attended to the duty assigned her. Having carefully cut some equal lengths of cotton, she spent a long time in finding the eyes of the needles, and was only just ready with one of them threaded when her mother had finished with the last. “You see,” said the latter gently, “this will save time. The last of my six little caps will be finished to-night.” She turned round to glance at the clock—ten minutes past one. Still nearly two hours. Juliette must now be beginning to dress. Henri had received the letter. Oh! he would certainly go. The instructions were precise; he would find the place without delay. But it all seemed so far off still, and she felt no emotional fever, but went on sewing with regular stitches as industriously as a work-girl. The minutes slipped by one by one. At last two o’clock struck. A ring at the bell came as a surprise. “Who can it be, mother darling?” asked Jeanne, who had jumped on her chair. “Oh! it’s you!” she continued, as Monsieur Rambaud entered the room. “Why did you ring so loudly? You gave me quite a fright.” The worthy man was in consternation—to tell the truth, his tug at the bell had been a little too violent. “I am not myself to-day, I’m ill,” the child resumed. “You must not frighten me.”