were not minded to pay any attention to recommendations on such subjects from the Capitaine. But nevertheless when Marie was seen slowly to creep across the little bridge about fifteen minutes after this time, she had a handkerchief on her head, and was closely wrapped in a dark brown cloak.

Poor Marie herself little heeded the cold fresh air, but she was glad to avail herself of any means by which she might hide her face. When Madame Bauche sought her out in her own little room, and with a smiling face and kind kiss bade her go to the grotto, she knew, or fancied that she knew, that it was all over.

“He will tell you all the truth,—how it all is,” said La Mère. “We will do all we can, you know, to make you happy, Marie. But you must remember what Monsieur le Curé told us the other day. In this vale of tears we cannot have everything; as we shall have some day, when our poor wicked souls have been purged of all their wickedness. Now go, dear, and take your cloak.”

“Yes, maman.”

“And Adolphe will come to you. And try and behave well, like a sensible girl.”

“Yes, maman,”—and so she went, bearing on her brow another sacrificial kiss,—and bearing in her heart such an unutterable load of woe!

Adolphe had gone out of the house before her; but standing in the stable yard, well within the gate so that she should not see him, he watched her slowly crossing the bridge and mounting the first flight of the steps. He had often seen her tripping up those stairs, and had, almost as often, followed her with his quicker feet. And she, when she would hear him, would run; and then he would catch her breathless at the top, and steal kisses from her when all power of refusing them had been robbed from her by her efforts at escape. There was no such running now, no such following, no thought of such kisses.

As for him, he would fain have skulked off and shirked the interview had he dared. But he did not dare; so he waited there, out of heart, for some ten minutes, speaking a word now and then to the bathman, who was standing by, just to show that he was at his ease. But the bathman knew that he was not at his ease. Such would-be lies as those rarely achieve deception;— are rarely believed. And then, at the end of the ten minutes, with steps as slow as Marie’s had been, he also ascended to the grotto.

Marie had watched him from the top, but so that she herself should not be seen. He, however, had not once lifted up his head to look for her; but with eyes turned to the ground had plodded his way up to the cave. When he entered she was standing in the middle, with her eyes downcast and her hands clasped before her. She had retired some way from the wall, so that no eyes might possibly see her but those of her false lover. There she stood when he entered, striving to stand motionless, but trembling like a leaf in every limb.

It was only when he reached the top step that he made up his mind how he would behave. Perhaps after all, the Capitaine was right; perhaps she would not mind it.

“Marie,” said he, with a voice that attempted to be cheerful; “this is an odd place to meet in after such a long absence,” and he held out his hand to her. But only his hand! He offered her no salute. He did not even kiss her cheek as a brother would have done! Of the rules of the outside world it must be remembered that poor Marie knew but little. He had been a brother to her before he had become her lover.

But Marie took his hand saying, “Yes, it has been very long.”

“And now that I have come back,” he went on to say, “it seems that we are all in a confusion together. I never knew such a piece of work. However, it is all for the best, I suppose.”