“Oh!--thirty,” replied the young girl, after a slight hesitation. “Monsieur de Gerfaut’s age?” They gazed at each other in silence. Octave, who, from his place of concealment heard the whole of this conversation, noticed the sad expression which passed over Clemence’s face, and seemed to provoke entire confidence. The young girl allowed herself to be caught by this appearance of interest and affection. “I will tell you something,” said she, “if you will promise never to tell a soul.” “To whom should I repeat it? You know that I am very discreet as to your little secrets.” “It is because this might be perhaps a great secret,” continued Aline. Clemence took her sister-in-law’s hand, and drew her down beside her. “You know,” said Aline, “that Christian has promised to give me a watch like yours, because I do not like mine. Yesterday, when we were out walking, I told him I thought it was very unkind of him not to have given it to me yet. Do you know what he replied?--It is true that he laughed a little--It is hardly worth while buying you one now; when you are the Vicomtesse de Gerfaut, your husband will give you one.’” “Your brother was joking at your expense; how could you be such a child as not to perceive it?” “I am not such a child!” exclaimed Aline, rising with a vexed air; “I know what I have seen. They were talking a long time together in the drawing-room last evening, and I am sure they were speaking of me.” Madame de Bergenheim burst into laughter, which increased her sister-in-law’s vexation, for she was less and less disposed to be treated like a young girl. “Poor Aline!” said the Baroness, at last; “they were talking about the fifth portrait; Monsieur de Gerfaut can not find the name of the original among the old papers, and he thinks he did not belong to the family. You know, that old face with the gray beard, near the door.” The young girl bent her head, like a child who sees her naughty sister throw down her castle of cards. “And how do you know?” said she, after a moment’s reflection. “You were at the piano. How could you hear at the other end of the room what Monsieur de Gerfaut was saying?” It was Clemence’s turn to hang her head, for it seemed to her that the girl had suspected the constant attention which, under an affectation of indifference, never allowed her to lose one of Octave’s words. As usual, she concealed her embarrassment by redoubling her sarcasm. “Very likely,” said she, “I was mistaken, and you may be right after all. What day shall we have the honor of saluting Madame la Vicomtesse de Gerfaut?” “I foolishly told you what I imagined, and you at once make fun of me,” said Aline, whose round face lengthened at each word, and passed from rose-color to scarlet; “is it my fault that my brother said this?” “I do not think it was necessary for him to speak of it, for you to think a great deal about the matter.” “Very well; must one not think of something?”