She had seen Samuel Brohl arrive, she had been unable to control her overweening curiosity, and, without the slightest scruples, she had listened at the door.

She cast herself into Antoinette's arms, pressed her to her heart, and cried: "Ah, my dear! oh, my dear! Did I not always say that it would end thus ?" Mlle.

Moriaz hastened to free herself from her embraces; she felt the need of being alone.

On entering her chamber she took a hasty survey of it: her furniture, her pretty knick-knacks, her rose-tined tapestry, the muslin hangings of her bed, the large silver crucifix hanging on the extreme wall, all seemed to regard her with astonishment, asking, "What has happened ?" And she replied: "You are right, something has happened." She remained in contemplation before a portrait of her mother, whom she had lost very young.
"I have been told," she mused, "that you were a great romance-reader.

I do not care for romances at all--I scarcely ever read them; but I have just been making one myself, with which you would not be discontented.
This man would astonish you a little; he would please you still more.
Some hours ago he seemed lost to me forever.