“Make not a mock of our young friend,” said the Pasteur, suddenly lifting his glance, or rather his spectacles from a long contemplation of that noble pipe and becoming aware of what was passing. “We all have our presents, which are magnificent. What then is our affair with the ring? Pardon them, and put it in your pocket, Godfrey, and come, let us go to the observatory, for the night is fine, and by now the stove will be warm.” So they went, and soon were engaged in contemplation of the stars, an occupation which absorbed Godfrey so much that for a while he forgot all his troubles. When the door had shut behind them Madame looked at Juliette, who with her new watch held to her ear, observed her out of the corners of her eyes. “I find him charming,” said Madame presently. “Yes, Mamma,” replied Juliette, “so bright and even the tick is musical.” “Stupid!” exclaimed Madame. “When I was your age—well.” “Pardon!” said Juliette, opening her eyes innocently. “Child, I meant our young English friend. I repeat that I find him charming.” “Of course, Mamma—after that necklace.” “And you—after that watch?” “Oh! well enough, though too grave perhaps, and fond of what is far off—I mean stars,” she added hurriedly. “Stars! Pish! It is but because there is nothing nearer. At his age—stars!—well of a sort, perhaps.” She paused while Juliette still looked provokingly innocent. So her mother took a long step forward, for in truth she grew impatient with all this obtuseness in which, for reasons of her own, she did not believe. “If I were a girl of your age,” mused Madame as though to herself, “I do not think that ring would go to England.” “How, Mamma, would you steal it?” “No, but I would make sure that it was given to me.” Now Juliette could no longer feign not to understand. She said nothing, but turned as red as Godfrey had done a little while before and stood waiting. “I find him charming,” repeated Madame, “though he is so young, which is a fault that will mend,” and she fixed her eyes upon her daughter’s face with a look of interrogation. Then Juliette gave a little sigh and answered: “Good. If you will make me say it, so do I also, at least, sometimes I think so, when he is not dull,” and turning she fled from the room. Madame smiled as the door closed behind her. “That goes well, and should go better,” she said to herself. “Only, for whom is the ring? There must be some girl in England, although of her he says nothing. _Peste!_ There are so many girls. Still, she is far away, and this one is near. But it could be wished that she were more experienced, for then, since she likes him well enough, all would be sure. What does a man count in such a case—especially when he is so young? Pish! nothing at all,” and Madame snapped her fingers at the empty air. “It is the woman who holds the cards, if only she knows how to play them.”