Esperance looked at her with astonishment, but the woman's husband came up with a newspaper in his hand, which he unfolded to display the picture of Esperance just beneath the headlines. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "they will make me odious to the public. Mounet-Sully was so wonderful. Worms so fine in his monologue...." Sadness overcame her. She was still sad when she entered her own room. She touched all the familiar little objects, and kissed the feet of the ivory Virgin upon her mantel-piece with great emotion. She thanked her mother with a look when she saw the fresh marguerites in the two enamel vases. In comparison with the luxury of her apartment at the Grand Hotel in Brussels, the simple surroundings of her own room charmed her anew. She swayed for a moment in her rocking-chair, sat down on her low stool, knelt upon her bed to straighten the branch of box beneath the silver crucifix her mother had given her when she was seventeen. Marguerite came in with the trunk and luggage. "What is that?" asked Esperance, spying a big box fastened with nails. "I don't know anything about it, Mademoiselle. They gave it to me at the hotel saying it was for you." The box on being opened displayed a magnificent basket of orchids. Attached by a white ribbon was a card--"Countess Styvens." Esperance grew pale; she took the card from her mother's hands, fearing that she might be mistaken. It was indeed the Countess and not the Count. She breathed again! Marguerite and the maid carried the basket into the salon; then the young girl went into the library with her mother. The newspaper clippings were spread out on the table, and the two famous trinkets had been taken from their cases. Madame Darbois clasped and unclasped her hands. "Oh! but they are too beautiful, simply too beautiful!" she said. And the philosopher, half in indignation, half in indulgence, exclaimed, "My poor child, you can not possibly wear such jewels at your age!" "Ah!" said Esperance with disappointment, "I cannot wear them?" "Why, no, it is out of the question." "You will be able to wear them in a play, at the theatre," said Madame Darbois, but her tone lacked assurance, for she did not know whether that would be possible either. M. Darbois had turned his attention to the notices, having pushed aside the descriptive paragraphs. He read them and gave them to his wife. "Your godfather came to complain to us of Maurice, of Jean Perliez, and of yourself. You all displeased him; tell us just what happened?" Esperance recounted the happenings with perfect impartiality, adding honestly that she had done nothing to try to persuade her godfather to remain. The philosopher smiled. "Very well, let us forget all that. We will take up our happy life again, that has been interrupted by your triumphs," he added sadly. And then, as the women were preparing to leave the library, "Tell me, Esperance, who is the Countess Styvens?" "A great lady at court, and oh! so charming."