When the Venosta re-entered, she was followed by the servants, bringing in a daintier meal than they had known for days--a genuine rabbit, potatoes, _marrons glaces_, a bottle of wine, and a pannier of wood. The fire was soon lighted, the Venosta plying the bellows. It was not till this banquet, of which Isaura, faint as she was, scarcely partook, had been remitted to the two Italian women-servants, and another log been thrown on the hearth, that the Venosta opened the subject which was pressing on her heart. She did this with a joyous smile, taking both Isaura's hands in her own, and stroking them fondly. "My child, I have such good news for thee! Thou hast escaped--thou art free!" and then she related all that M. Rameau had said, and finished by producing the copy of Gustave's unhallowed journal. When she had read the latter, which she did with compressed lips and varying colour, the girl fell on her knees--not to thank Heaven that she would now escape a union from which her soul so recoiled--not that she was indeed free, but to pray, with tears rolling down her cheeks, that God would yet save to Himself, and to good ends, the soul that she had failed to bring to Him. All previous irritation against Gustave was gone: all had melted into an ineffable compassion. CHAPTER VII. When, a little before noon, Gustave was admitted by the servant into Isaura's salon, its desolate condition, stripped of all its pretty feminine elegancies, struck him with a sense of discomfort to himself which superseded any more remorseful sentiment. The day was intensely cold: the single log on the hearth did not burn; there were only two or three chairs in the room; even the carpet, which had been of gaily coloured Aubusson, was gone. His teeth chattered; and he only replied by a dreary nod to the servant who informed him that Madame Venosta was gone out, and Mademoiselle had not yet quitted her own room. If there be a thing which a true Parisian of Rameau's stamp associates with love of woman, it is a certain sort of elegant surroundings, a pretty _boudoir_, a cheery hearth, an easy _fauteuil_. In the absence of such attributes, "fuyit retro Venus." If the Englishman invented the word comfort, it is the Parisian who most thoroughly comprehends the thing. And he resents the loss of it in any house where he has been accustomed to look for it, as a personal wrong to his feelings. Left for some minutes alone, Gustave occupied himself with kindling the log, and muttering, "_Par tous les diables, quel chien de rhume je vais attraper_?" He turned as he heard the rustle of a robe and a light slow step. Isaura stood before him. Her aspect startled him. He had come prepared to expect grave displeasure and a frigid reception. But the expression of Isaura's face was more kindly, more gentle, more tender, than he had seen it since the day she had accepted his suit.