His last midday meal at the Maison Blanche, before he departed to catch the night train for Paris, was rather a melancholy function.

Madame, who had grown fond of him in her somewhat frivolous way, openly dropped tears into her soup.

Juliette looked sad and _distraite_, though inwardly supported by the knowledge that her distant cousin, the notary Jules, was arriving on the morrow to spend his vacation at the Maison Blanche, so that Godfrey's room would not be without an occupant.

Indeed, in her pretty little head she was already planning certain alterations in the arrangement of the furniture, to make it more comfortable to the very different tastes of the new comer.
Still, she was truly sorry to lose her friend the _Hibou_, although she had not been able to fulfil her mother's wish, and make him fall in love with her, or even to fall in love with him herself.

As she explained to Madame Boiset, it was of no use to try, since between their natures there were fixed not only a great gulf, but several whole ranges of the Alps, and whereas the _Hibou_ sat gazing at the stars from their topmost peak, she was picking flowers in the plain and singing as she picked them.
The Pasteur did not make matters better by the extremely forced gaiety of his demeanour.