But Madame de Noirmont seemed carefully to avoid giving Louise any opportunity to wait upon her; only in her husband’s presence, and when it was impossible for her to do otherwise, would she give her an order or two, or take something from her hand. The young lady’s maid, who would gladly have anticipated her mistress’s slightest wish, sometimes followed her with her eyes, in the hope of making herself useful to her; but if Madame de Noirmont caught Louise’s glance fastened upon her, her own expression would become sterner, and she would instantly motion to her to leave the room. One day, madame was in her room, as usual, holding a book of which she read very little, because her thoughts absorbed her so completely that she could give no attention to anything else. Ernestine was seated at a little distance, embroidering, and from time to time glancing furtively at her mother, in the hope of meeting her eyes and of obtaining from her a smile, which had become a very infrequent favor. Madame de Noirmont turned to her and said, holding out the book: “Ernestine, bring me the second volume of this; you will find it in the library, on the second shelf at the left.” The girl rose quickly, took the book and left the room, eager to obey her mother. Having found the volume for which Madame de Noirmont had asked her, she was about to take it to her, when she found her drawing-master, who had just arrived, waiting for her in the salon. Ernestine gave Louise the book and told her to take it to her mother; then she sat down by her teacher to take her lesson. Louise took the book and went to her mistress’s room. When she was about to turn the knob, she felt that she was trembling; she was so afraid of offending Madame de Noirmont, who had not sent her on that errand. However, she went in. Madame de Noirmont was seated, her head fallen forward on her breast. She did not raise her eyes when she heard the door open, for she had no doubt that it was Ernestine; and Louise reached her side and handed her the book without daring to utter a word. But at that moment, impelled by an outburst of maternal affection, she took the hand that offered the book and squeezed it in her own, murmuring: “My poor love, you must have thought me most unjust to you of late, and you think perhaps that I no longer love you! Do not think that, my child; I still love you as dearly as I ever did; but you cannot understand what is taking place in my heart, and what I suffer. No, you will never know----” At that moment she raised her head and drew the girl toward her, meaning to kiss her. Not until then did she recognize Louise. She was speechless and motionless with surprise; a terrified expression appeared on her face, from which all the blood receded, and she raised her eyes to heaven, faltering: “O mon Dieu! and I called her my child!”