their beds. The chevalier, according to his usual custom, accompanied
Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel to her house in the Place de Guerande, making
remarks as they went along on the cleverness of the last play, on the
joy with which Mademoiselle Zephirine engulfed her gains in those
capacious pockets of hers,--for the old blind woman no longer
repressed upon her face the visible signs of her feelings. Madame du
Guenic's evident preoccupation was the chief topic of conversation,
however. The chevalier had remarked the abstraction of the beautiful
Irish woman. When they reached Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel's door-step,
and her page had gone in, the old lady answered, confidentially, the
remarks of the chevalier on the strangely abstracted air of the
baroness:--

"I know the cause. Calyste is lost unless we marry him promptly. He
loves Mademoiselle des Touches, an actress!"

"In that case, send for Charlotte."

"I have sent; my sister will receive my letter to-morrow," replied
Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, bowing to the chevalier.

Imagine from this sketch of a normal evening the hubbub excited in
Guerande homes by the arrival, the stay, the departure, or even the
mere passage through the town, of a stranger.

When no sounds echoed from the baron's chamber nor from that of his
sister, the baroness looked at the rector, who was playing pensively
with the counters.

"I see that you begin to share my anxiety about Calyste," she said to