"Florimond is coming--" "Florimond ?" she broke in, and her voice went shrill, as if with a sudden fear, her cheeks turned white as chalk.

The thing that for months she had hoped and prayed for was come at last, and it struck her almost dead with terror.
He remarked the change, and set it down to a natural excitement.

He paused a moment.

Then: "He is still at La Rochette.

But he does no more than wait until he shall have learned that his stepmother has departed from Condillac." "But--why--why--?
Was he then in no haste to come to me ?" she inquired, her voice faltering.
"He is--" He stopped and tugged at his mustachios, his eyes regarding her sombrely.