Poor Eugénie! her face was almost as pale as her clothes. What a sad expression in her eyes! what prostration in her whole person!--She stopped; she was standing at the head of the stairs. She turned her face toward the room she had just left, then looked in my direction. I trembled lest she should see me; but no, I had no light and my room was very dark. She made up her mind at last to go downstairs; I ran to my window and saw the little lantern pass rapidly through the garden and disappear near the summer-house. So it was Eugénie who occupied that building, which was always carefully closed; Ernest and Marguerite had given it to her so that she could readily go to the house to see her children. So she was there--very near me--had been there a long while perhaps, and I had no suspicion of it. What was her object, her hope? Was it because of her children only that she had concealed herself there?--But Ernest and his wife knew perfectly well that I would not prevent her from seeing them. I determined to learn the motive of Eugénie’s conduct, and the plans of Marguerite and her husband. To that end, I must be careful not to let them suspect that I had seen the pretended spectre; and I must try to learn something more the next night. The intervening time seemed terribly long to me. During the day, I involuntarily walked toward the summer-house several times; but everything was closed as usual. I noticed that the door, which was on the side of the building toward the forest, was very conveniently situated for anyone to go in and out of the garden unseen. The night came at last. I kissed my children and they were taken to their room. When I supposed that they were asleep, I bade my hosts good-night and withdrew to my room, on the pretext that I had a violent headache; but I had no sooner entered the room than I stole forth again softly, without a light, and went to that occupied by my children. The key was in the door; I went in, and sat down by my daughter’s bed to wait until somebody should come; both she and her brother were sleeping quietly. At last, some time after everybody was in bed, I heard stealthy steps outside. I instantly left my chair and hid behind the long window curtains. I was hardly out of sight when the door was softly opened, and Eugénie entered the chamber, carrying her little lantern, which she carefully placed at the foot of her son’s cradle. She threw her veil back over her shoulders, and, stealing forward on tiptoe, leaned over Henriette’s bed and kissed her without waking her; she did the same with Eugène, then sat down facing the children and gazed long at them as they lay sleeping. I dared not move; I hardly breathed; but Eugénie was almost facing me; I could see her face and count her sighs. She put her handkerchief to her eyes, which were filled with tears, and I heard broken sentences come from her lips.