Marguerite half smiled and tapped the country woman on the arm, for praise is a flower whose perfume is grateful at any age. "Out with it then," she said. "What is it?" "Mademoiselle, I'll tell you with much pleasure; but it's a long story, and I must go into a good many houses this morning. If you would let me tell it to you this evening at your house, that would be better, for I dare not say all that in the street; some one might hear me and take me for a sorcerer, and I'm very much afraid of the Chambre Ardente. God knows, however, mademoiselle, that I understand nothing of magic, and I'm more afraid of the devil than I am of men." "Oh," said Marguerite, whose curiosity had reached an unbearable point, "this mystery of yours is of itself extraordinary?" "Yes, mademoiselle." "Indeed! Well, this is very embarrassing; to receive you in the house is difficult. Where do you live, my child?" Urbain hesitated for a moment, then replied:-- "Near the Porte Saint-Antoine." "Oh, good heavens--that's more than a league from here. I could never get there; my master's a very strict man and doesn't wish that anyone should have visitors." Marguerite reflected for some moments, then her curiosity carried the day. "Well," said she at last, "come this evening at seven o'clock; it'll be dark; but look well at that house over there--that alleyway." "Oh, I shall recognize it." "Don't knock; keep near the door. I'll let you in, and show you up to my room. At that hour my master doesn't ordinarily need my services, and he never leaves the lower room." "That's enough, mademoiselle, I'll be there at seven precisely." "What is your name?" "Ursule Ledoux." "Above all, Ursule, don't gossip with anybody about this. It's no crime to receive you, but my master's a little ridiculous and might find it wrong. Besides, my child, one must be discreet in everything. You'll tell me your secret this evening, Ursule?" "Yes, mademoiselle." "At seven o'clock, the house over there." Urbain departed, delighted by the success of his stratagem, breathing with difficulty, partly from the hope of seeing Blanche and partly because his corset impeded his respiration; and Marguerite reached her dwelling, saying,-- "This young girl looks as sweet as she looks honest, and there's no harm in receiving her for a moment--it'll amuse my poor little Blanche a little; she's been rather sad for some days and seems more lonely than usual; and we shall know the secret which--mon Dieu, if seven o'clock would only come soon." Marguerite hastened to find Blanche. Since the night of the serenade the lovely child had been even more dreamy than before; she sang nothing but the refrain of her dear romance, and the villanelles, the virelays, the old songs amused her no longer. Marguerite drew near to her and said mysteriously, in a low tone,-- "This evening we shall have a visitor." "A visitor," said Blanche. "Oh, M. Chaudoreille I suppose."