Before they went home she told him all that had troubled her. And he, in his turn, told her something. He showed her the little dull balcony between the trees, where once he had pictured her sitting waiting, in the warm glow of light. They went a little nearer, these two, and looked at it. Nannon, who was getting rather tired of her play with the sturdy little woman who went solemnly through her pranks, came across, and asked what they were talking about. "We are settling a new dress for mademoiselle," said M. Deshoulieres, his honest blue eyes brimming over with fun. "It must be white and something shiny." "White and shiny! That will be a bride's dress," cried Nannon, all her teeth showing. "So that is it, mademoiselle? I am as happy as a little cat. There is a little good news come at last; for, what with fevers and wickednesses, and that angel of a Jean-Marie wanting to go for a drummer ever since he saw the last review, I can scarcely sleep at night. And monsieur is going to have a deputation and the thanks of the town--has he heard?" They went back slowly through the narrow tangled streets, and past the Eveche into the Place Notre Dame. There rose the Cathedral, golden with the glow of the autumnal sun; there stood the serene statues encompassing it solemnly. Little dappled ranks of clouds rested quietly on the blue heavens, the jackdaws flew in and out of their carved homes; two great hawks that lived up there with them swooped lazily along, or hung poised in midair. After the stifling oppression of the summer, this cool, sweet autumn came with a sense of delicious relief. These two had their hearts almost too full for speech, but I do not know that silence was not as sweet to both. I do not know that we can leave them better than here, under the shadow of the great Cathedral, in the glow of the golden sunshine. The little notary had disappeared, and, except the fact that he had not been seen at Tours, nothing could be ascertained about him. Whether he fled from the fever, his wife, or Monsieur Saint-Martin, remained also an open question for Charville to decide. He never came back again, that was the only sure point. Therese went to Madame Aubert for a little while, for Madame Roulleau, when no tidings arrived from her husband, left Charville--a broken-down woman. M. Deshoulieres best knows where she is gone. And Fabien is reported to have married a widow, rich and noble, and to live in superb apartments in Paris.