"There is no need for any comedy, Suzanne.

Enough of that had we at Boisvert." "It is not comedy," she cried with heat.

"It was not altogether comedy at Boisvert." "True," he said, wilfully misunderstanding her that he might the more easily dismiss the subject, "it went nearer to being tragedy." Then abruptly he asked her: "Where are you residing ?" She paused before replying.

She still wanted to protest that some affection for him dwelt in her heart, although curbed (to a greater extent even than she was aware) by the difference in their stations, and checked by her plighted word to Ombreval.

At last, abandoning a purpose which his countenance told her would be futile: "I am staying with my old nurse at Choisy," she answered him.