"I had better go alone," answered Therese, pausing to think over what in a French household is always a breach of etiquette. "There is no one to care," she said to herself bitterly, as she went down. When M. Deshoulieres saw her enter, he started. Her face was pale, thin; there was a heaviness in her movements which his experienced eye noted at once. "You have been ill, mademoiselle?" he said anxiously. He had come without any very definite purpose; it was, he told himself, to see how she looked, whether she was well and happy. The sight of her sent the blood rushing to his heart, he hardly knew what he was saying. Strong man as he was, he stood there trembling. "You have been ill?" he repeated. Therese shook her head. "Then something has happened?" "What should it be, monsieur?" she said, with a half sob which would not be repressed. "I live on from day to day." "My poor child, is life so hard?" She looked at him in wonder. What did he mean--he, who was one of her persecutors--by standing there, saying kind words, and looking down upon her with compassionate eyes? She thought the words would be like Madame Roulleau's, lasting only for a day, and resented them in her heart. He, meanwhile, was thinking of what she had said once, that pathetic little sentence which had sounded in his ears ever since,--"Every place must be a little sad, since I belong to no one." Poor desolate Therese! She was shutting up her heart, misjudging even at this moment the man who was yearning to pour out upon her the best gift this world has to offer--a great, unselfish love. She answered his question coldly. "It will all come to an end one day. Do you want to speak to Monsieur or Madame Roulleau, monsieur?" He was a little chilled and disappointed. He did not stay to remember that the feelings which had been growing stronger with him week by week, day by day, must be unknown to her. It was unreasonable, perhaps, to expect another answer, and yet he fancied it should have been different. "I do not want them," he said gently. "I came to speak to you, to know whether you were still contented with these people. You do not look so. Is there any thing I can do?" "You have heard nothing more from the Lion d'Or?" she asked, evading an answer.