It was very lonely; and because she could not speak out her thoughts, and say, "Is Percy here?
Shall I see him some day passing, and thinking nothing of my being near him ?" she said the thing that lay next in her mind, "I wish Maurice were here! Don't you, mamma ?" They had been more than a month in their new home.

The routine of life had grown familiar to them; they knew the outsides, at least, of all the neighbouring shops; they had walked together to the Arc de Triomphe on the one side, and to the Rond Point on the other; they had driven to the Bois de Boulogne, and done some little sight-seeing beside.

They had done all, in short, to which Mrs.Costello's strength was at present equal, and had come to a little pause, waiting for warmer weather, and for the renewal of health, which they hoped sunshine would bring her.
One afternoon Claudine had been obliged to go out, and the little apartment was unusually quiet.

Mrs.Costello, tired with a morning walk, had dropped into a doze; and Lucia sat by the window, her work on her lap, and her eyes idly following the constant succession of carriages down below.

To tell the truth, she constantly outraged Claudine's sense of propriety, by insisting on having one little crevice uncurtained, where she could look out into the free air; and to-day she was making use of the privilege, for want of anything more interesting indoors.