Lison arrived at the chateau about the middle of July, quite upset by the idea of the marriage; she brought a great many presents which did not receive much attention as she was the giver, and the day after her arrival no one noticed she was there. She could not take her eyes off the sweethearts, and busied herself about the trousseau with a strange energy, a feverish excitement, working in her room, where no one came to see her, like a common seamstress. She was always showing the baroness some handkerchiefs she had hemmed, or some towels on which she had embroidered the monogram, and asking: "Do you like that, Adelaide?" The baroness would carelessly look at the work and answer: "Don't take so much trouble over it, my dear Lison." About the end of the month, after a day of sultry heat, the moon rose in one of those warm, clear nights which seem to draw forth all the hidden poetry of the soul. The soft breeze fluttered the hangings of the quiet drawing-room, and the shaded lamp cast a ring of soft light on the table where the baroness and her husband were playing cards. Aunt Lison was sitting by them knitting, and the young people were leaning against the open window, looking out at the garden as it lay bathed in light. The shadows of the linden and the plane tree fell on the moonlit grass which stretched away to the shadows of the wood. Irresistibly attracted by the beauty of the sight, Jeanne turned and said: "Papa, we are going for a walk on the grass." "Very well, my dear," answered the baron, without looking up from his game. Jeanne and the vicomte went out and walked slowly down the grass till they reached the little wood at the bottom. They stayed out so long that at last the baroness, feeling tired and wanting to go to her room, said: "We must call in the lovers." The baron glanced at the moonlit garden, where the two figures could be seen walking slowly about. "Leave them alone," he answered, "it is so pleasant out of doors; Lison will wait up for them; won't you, Lison?" The old maid looked up, and answered in her timid voice: "Oh, yes, certainly." The baron helped his wife to rise, and, tired himself by the heat of the day, "I will go to bed, too," he said. And he went upstairs with the baroness. Then Aunt Lison got up, and, leaving her work on the arm of the easy chair, leant out of the window and looked at the glorious night. The two sweethearts were walking backwards and forwards across the grass, silently pressing each other's hands, as they felt the sweet influence of the visible poetry that surrounded them. Jeanne saw the old maid's profile in the window, with the lighted lamp behind. "Look," she said, "Aunt Lison is watching us." "Yes, so she is," answered the vicomte in the tone of one who speaks without thinking of what he is saying; and they continued their slow walk and their dreams of love. But the dew was falling, and they began to feel chilled. "We had better go in now," said Jeanne.