Jules had become her pride and the source of her happiness. Yet she really saw very little of him--the only meal he took at home was his breakfast--but she really existed for the pleasure of serving him and looking at his face in the morning. Now, in spite of her misery, she knelt before the statue of the Blessed Virgin that stood on a little table beside her bed, and prayed that the woman who was going to take her place might be a good woman, and worthy of her boy. In her simple affection for Jules she believed that he had only to show that he cared for a woman to have her throw herself into his arms. It was hardly three o'clock, too early for a call, Jules thought, as he walked toward the _rue St. Honoré_; but he was so impatient to see Mademoiselle Blanche again that he could not wait till later in the afternoon. During the week the sun had hardly appeared, and the succession of leaden skies had helped to depress his spirits. To-day, however, the sky was blue and the sun shone so brightly that it seemed almost like spring. He was in one of his buoyant moods, when he felt sure of his ability to conquer. In his fine clothes and with his confident manner, he looked very handsome; several pretty girls gratified him by staring at him as he passed. If he impressed people he didn't know, why couldn't he impress Mademoiselle Blanche? He planned a great many things to say to her. He would be particularly amiable to the mother, too, and tell her all about America. The number in the _rue St. Honoré_ that Madame Perrault had given corresponded with one of the great white stucco apartment houses abounding in Paris. He passed under the wide vaulted entrance, and asked the wife of the _concierge_ if Madame Perrault lived there. "_Au sixième_," was the shrill reply, and he started up the narrow stairs. When he reached the _sixième_, the top floor of the house, he panted and waited for a moment before ringing, to catch his breath. Then he carefully arranged his cuffs, touched with his gloved hand his silk cravat and his flowers and, with a sigh of anticipation, he rang the bell. A trim little servant of not more than fifteen opened the door. When Jules asked for Madame Perrault, she shook her head. "She went out an hour ago, monsieur, and she won't be back till four." Jules' heart sank. Of course, mother and daughter were out together. He was about to turn away despairingly, but he suddenly thought of inquiring if Mademoiselle were at home. The maid nodded. "Shall I say that monsieur wishes to see her?" she asked, stepping back that he might enter.