"You will say ’ma tante,’ will you not, dear child? Our nephew is dear to us, and we welcome his wife. Come then and see Marthe. She suffers much, my poor Marthe, and the children’s chatter is too much for her, so I do not take them into her room, except now and then. She likes to see little Jeanne sometimes, and Candide, the little blue-eyed one. Marthe says she is like Nature—unconsciously stupid—and she finds that refreshing, since like Nature she is so beautiful. But there, the child is well enough—we cannot all be clever." Mlle Desaix led the way through the hall and up a narrow stair as she spoke. Outside a door on the landing above she paused. "But where, then, is Jacques—the dear Jacques?" "After all he could not come," said Aline. "His orders were so strict,—’to press on without any delay,’—and if he had lost the diligence, it would have kept him twenty-four hours. He charged me with many messages." "Ah," said Mlle Ange, "it will be a grief to Marthe. I told her all the time that perhaps he would not be able to come, but she counted on it. But of course, my dear, we understand that his duty must come first—only," with a sigh, "it will disappoint my poor Marthe." She opened the door as she spoke, and they came into a room all in the dark except for the afterglow which filled the wide, square window. A bed or couch was drawn up to the open casement, and Aline took a quick breath, for the profile which was relieved against the light was startlingly like Dangeau’s as she had seen it at the coach window that morning. Ange drew her forward. "See then, Marthe," she said, "our new niece is come, but alas, Jacques was not able to spare the time. Business of the Republic that could not wait." Marthe Desaix turned her head with a sharp movement—a movement of restless pain. "How do you do, my dear niece," she said, in a voice that distinctly indicated quotation marks. "As to seeing, it is too dark to see anything but the sky." "Yes, truly," said Ange; "I will get the lamp. We are late to-night, but the tale was a long one, and I knew the market folk would be late on such a fine evening." She went out quickly, and Aline, coming nearer to the window, uttered a little exclamation of pleasure. "Ah, how lovely!" she said, just above her breath. The window looked west through the open end of the hollow where Rancy lay, and a level wash of gold held the horizon. Wing-like clouds of grey and purple rested brooding above it, and between them shone the evening star. On either side the massed trees stood black against the glow, and the scent of the lavender came up like the incense of peace. Marthe Desaix looked curiously at her, but all she could see was a slim form, in the dusk. "You find that better than lamplight?" she asked.