Zénaïde was on the spot,—more than usual, too, for she had not been at the château for a month. Her eyes were also widely open, and were more keen and vivacious than ever, for Zénaïde was about to be married to a handsome young soldier attached to the customhouse at Nantes, and the girl’s dowry was seven thousand francs. Père Rondic thought this too much, but the soldier was firm. The old man had made no provision for Clarisse. If he should die, what would become of her? But his wife said, “You are yet young—we will be economical. Let the soldier have Zénaïde and the seven thousand francs, for the girl loves him!” Zénaïde spent a great deal of time before her mirror. She did not deceive herself. “I am ugly, and M. Maugin will not marry me for my beauty, but let him marry me, and he shall love me later.” And the girl gave a little nod, for she knew the unselfish devotion of which she was capable, the tenderness and patience with which she would watch over her husband. But all these new interests had so absorbed her that Zénaïde had partially forgotten her suspicions; they returned to her at intervals, while she was sewing on her wedding-dress, but she did not notice her mother’s pallor nor uneasiness, nor did she feel the burning heat of those slender hands. She did not notice her long and frequent disappearances, and she heard nothing of what was rumored in the town. She saw and heard nothing but her own radiant happiness. The banns were published, the marriage-day fixed, and the little house was full of the joyous excitement that precedes a wedding. Zénaïde ran up and down stairs twenty times each day with the movements of a young hippopotamus. Her friends came and went, little gifts were pouring in, for the girl was a great favorite in spite of her occasional abruptness. Jack wished to make her a present; his mother had sent him a hundred francs. “This money is your own, my Jack,” Charlotte wrote. “Buy with it a gift for M’lle Rondic, and some clothes for yourself. I wish you to make a good appearance at the wedding, and I am afraid that your wardrobe is in a pitiable condition. Say nothing about it in your letters, nor of me to the Rondics. They would thank me, which would be an annoyance, and bring me a reproof besides.” For two days Jack carried this money with pride in his pocket. He would go to Nantes and buy a new suit. What a delight it would be! and how kind his mother was! One thing troubled him: What could he purchase for Zénaïde; he must first see what she had. So thinking one dark night, as he entered the house, he ran against some one who was coming down the steps. “Is that you, Bélisaire?” There was no reply, but as Jack pushed open the door, he saw that he was not mistaken, that Bélisaire had been there.