From that instant each one strained every nerve to revive in Esperance her dearest desire. Several days after this visit, Esperance received a letter from the Comedie-Française, asking her to come to the office. She turned pink. Her lovely forehead brightened for the first time in many months. She handed the letter to her father, who knew what it contained, and had been watching his child's surprise very closely. "We must go back to Paris, father, I feel entirely well." "Good, Mademoiselle, we will obey your orders," he said tenderly. She kissed her father as she used to do, and began to tease him a little. "How nice it is to have such an agreeable papa! You have plenty of cause to be severe, for I give you endless trouble." "So you are to make your début at the Comedie-Française?" "My God!" said the young girl, starting up, "that might cost you your election!" François Darbois began to laugh, for his joy returned to him when his daughter's memory came back to her. "Leave my election alone. They won't even nominate me, and I shall not worry." Mme. Darbois came in and François pretended to disclose the news to her. She assumed surprise. To hide her emotion, she took her daughter in a long embrace. Maurice had taken his young wife to Italy, to show her in its most harmonious setting the most beautiful aspirations of art towards the ideal. The Duke de Morlay travelled there with them, adoring Italy as does every devotee of art. There was not a corner of this rare country that he did not know. The sojourn of the young couple in Italy was pure enchantment. Maurice was constantly surprised by the intellectual strength of his companion. Like most artists he had an indulgent scorn for what so many call and think the worldly class. When he originally met the Duke he had recognized his cultivation, and found that his eclecticism was exact, profound, and not the superficial veneer he had at first supposed. He realized that men of the world do not vaunt their knowledge, though it is often far deeper than that of certain artists who never go below the depths of but one art: their own. Almost every day Maurice received a letter or telegram giving him news of his cousin. The advice of Doctor Potain seemed to be justifying itself. Every day Esperance began to recover her health and spirits. She was rehearsing at the Comedie, and her début in _On ne badine pas avec l'amour_ was announced for the next month. The travellers had intended to spend another ten days in Italy. But a letter to Genevieve alarmed them. She read it aloud.