"No," said the doctor, more abruptly. He disliked the subject of this trust, which brought him letters, papers to sign, difficulties, and endless arrangements. Only a week before he had paid another flying visit to Ardron, about a matter which required his personal superintendence, and he made a second attempt upon the imperturbable cure. "Still no news?" inquired the cure, with that slight lifting of the eyebrows which M. Deshoulieres found so irritating. "Absolutely no promise of news?" And then he was told of that impotent visit to the Lion d'Or. "And you found no one? Decidedly, monsieur, as you say, there must be imposition somewhere." That was all the doctor could extract, and it was not at all pleasant. "No," he replied to Therese, "I wish I could have gone myself; but, after all, it would only have been one fool more. Roulleau says there will be a dozen such absurdities. It is always the case in these affaire. You should have known nothing about it. How came they to be so indiscreet as to cause you the disappointment?" "It was the children's doing," she said; and then, with a sudden impulse, which astonished herself, she stretched out her hands imploringly. "Promise me, promise me," she said, "always to tell me when there is a little hope like that." Her eyes were filled with tears, even those few kindly words were breaking down the barriers of pride. He took her hands; he was greatly moved by the child-like appeal. "I promise," he said quietly. "It is horrible to think that things are being concealed from one." "You may trust me. But, my child, why are you hungering so terribly after a change? Cannot we make you happy here?" Something in his voice made her heart stand still with fright. She tried to draw away her hands, but he held them fast, so fast that he almost hurt her. In fact, he did not know what he was doing. He kept his voice under control, but the room swam round. He was only conscious that she was close to him. "Let me go, monsieur," she said, in a low, hurried voice; and then he recovered himself with an effort. "Hear me first," he said, releasing her hands; but standing between her and the door, and holding her still more, as she felt, by a certain determination in his voice. "I did not come here meaning to say this; but when I see you looking so changed, so sad, I cannot keep it back. I think I could make you happy. It should be my life's joy. I am old-- much older than you, a plain, rough man; but--child, child, do you know how I love you--!" The last words broke from him with a passionate ring. She put her hands before her eyes. "No, no, no!" she cried.