'Yes,' rejoined M. de Veron, pausing for an instant on the outer threshold, 'there is one mode, Eugene, and only one. What it is, you do not require to be told. I shall dine in town to-day; at seven, I shall look in at the church of Notre Dame, and remain there precisely twenty minutes. After that, repentance will be too late.' Eugene was in despair, for it was quite clear that Adeline must be given up--Adeline, whose myriad charms and graces rose upon his imagination in tenfold greater lustre than before, now that he was about to lose her for ever! But there was plainly no help for it; and after a brief, agitated consultation, the young men left the office to join Madame and Mademoiselle le Blanc at the Widow Carson's, in the Grande Rue, or Rue de Paris, as the only decent street in Havre-de-Grace was at that time indifferently named, both for the purpose of communicating the untoward state of affairs, and that Eugene might take a lingering, last farewell of Adeline. Before accompanying them thither, it is necessary to say a few words of this Madame Carson, who is about to play a very singular part in this little drama. She was a gay, well-looking, symmetrically-shaped young widow, who kept a confectioner's shop in the said Grande Rue, and officiated as her own _dame du comptoir_. Her good-looks, coquettishly-gracious smiles, and unvarying good temper, rendered her establishment much more attractive--it was by no means a brilliant affair in itself--than it would otherwise have been. Madame Carson was, in a tacit, quiet kind of way, engaged to Edouard le Blanc--that is to say, she intended marrying him as soon as their mutual savings should justify such a step; and provided, also, that no more eligible offer wooed her acceptance in the meantime. M. de Veron himself was frequently in the habit of calling, on his way to or from Mon Sejour, for a pate and a little lively badinage with the comely widow; and so frequently, at one time, that Edouard le Blanc was half-inclined--to Madame Carson's infinite amusement--to be jealous of the rich, though elderly merchant's formal and elaborate courtesies. It was on leaving her shop that he had slipped and sprained his ankle. M. de Veron fainted with the extreme pain, was carried in that state into the little parlour behind the shop, and had not yet recovered consciousness when the apothecary, whom Madame Carson had despatched her little waiting-maid-of-all-work in quest of, entered to tender his assistance. This is all, I think, that needs be said, in a preliminary way, of Madame Carson.