This was not the first time I had heard her speak in this way of Gilbert de Kergy since we had daily met. Among other things, she explained, on one occasion, the object of various associations of which he was an active member. “He could explain all this much better than I,” she added; “but I have urged him in vain to accompany us in our explorations through what I call his domain. He absolutely refuses, and, though I am accustomed to his uncivilized ways, they afflict me, because he often yields to them to the injury of others as well as himself.” One day, however, I found his card at my door when I returned home; but I had seen him only once since the meeting at the Hôtel de Kergy. Saturday arrived, the day but one before our departure, and I was to take my last drive with Mme. de Kergy. I was suffering from a thousand conflicting emotions, agitated and melancholy, and sorry to be separated from her, and yet happy and impatient to leave Paris, where I now seemed to behold nothing but two large blue eyes following me everywhere. On the other hand, however, a strange, inexplicable regret weighed on my heart when I thought of the world into which I had not yet penetrated, except in imagination, but where I longed to be transplanted with Lorenzo, that our lives might bring forth better fruit. While conversing with Mme. de Kergy such a life seemed less chimerical. I felt my wishes might easily be realized if ... I could not wholly define my thought, but it was there, alive, actual, and poignant, and the recollection of its source added a degree of tenderness to the affectionate farewell I bade Mme. de Kergy when her carriage stopped to leave me at my door. My eyes were filled with tears. I found it difficult to tear myself away. She, on her part, pressed my hand, and, fastening her softest look on me, finally said: “My dear Ginevra” (I had some time before begged her to call me so), “would it be indiscreet to ask you to come and dine with us to‐morrow, and spend your last evening with us?” “O madame!” I exclaimed with a joy I did not try to conceal, “how happy I should be to come!” “Then I shall depend on seeing you—both of you; for of course my invitation extends likewise to the Duca di Valenzano.” I felt my face turn red simply at these words. Alas! why? Because I was at once terrified at the thought of conveying an invitation to Lorenzo which, ten days before, he would have eagerly accepted. Now I felt if he replied in the affirmative, it would be a triumph for me; if in the negative, a painful defeat. All this rapidly crossed my mind, and made me silent for a moment. Finally I replied: “I do not know whether my husband has any engagement for to‐morrow or not; but as for me, I hope nothing will prevent my coming. At all events, you shall have my reply in a few hours.”