At night, as soon as the house was completely closed in, and all prying eyes excluded, Clara again ventured from her place of concealment; and certainly, if she had before appeared handsome in the eyes of Auguste, she now, refreshed by repose, looked loveliness itself. Clara could not but feel that she was admired; and perhaps, at another moment, the admiration of the young stranger--whose tone, and manner, and language, as well as his appearance, all belied the character he assumed--might not have been unpleasant to a heart naturally gentle and affectionate, and ready to cling to any thing for support and consolation. But she saw, at the same time, that every look which Auguste turned towards her, every word that he addressed to her, inflicted a pang upon Ninette; and though Clara well knew that the passion the poor girl was nourishing could only end in her ruin, if the object of it was base, and in her unhappiness, if he were noble and virtuous, yet her heart was not one willing to inflict pain upon any human being; and she remained cold, silent, and reserved, where, she would gladly have confided her feelings, her sorrows, and her hopes. During the course of the day that followed, Ninette scarcely came near the place of Mademoiselle de la Roche's concealment; and although, two days before, Clara had regarded it with delighted satisfaction, as the first secure resting-place she had found for long, she now began to feel the confinement and the solitude irksome. Her own thoughts, which were full of painful memories, varied by hardly any thing but apprehensions as painful, were certainly not the sweetest of companions during the long hours of a solitary summer's day, and she would have given much for a book to while away the time. At length, however, night came, and this time it was the voice of La Brousse himself that gave the signal for her to come forth. Ninette was sitting pettishly in one corner of the room, while Auguste stood by the table with his hand resting upon a small packet of books, which he was not long in offering to Clara, as a means of occupying her solitary hours. He did so with the calm and graceful ease that characterized his every action; but there was a light in his eye as he did so, that added a pang to all those that Ninette was already inflicting on herself, and gave even Clara no small pain on her account, though her own heart beat, and her own cheek burned, she scarce knew why.