Albert de Chantonnay was looking expectantly at the door, for he had
heard footsteps, and now he bowed gravely to a very old gentleman, a
notary of the town, who entered the room with a deep obeisance to
the Comtesse. Close on the notary's heels came others. Some were
in riding costume, and came from a distance.

One sprightly lady wore evening dress, only partially concealed by a
cloak. She hurried in with a nod for Albert de Chantonnay, and a
kiss for the Comtesse. Her presence had the immediate effect of
imparting an air of practical common-sense energy to the assembly,
which it had hitherto lacked. There was nothing of the old regime
in this lady, who seemed to over-ride etiquette, and cheerfully
ignore the dramatic side of the proceedings.

"Is it not wonderful?" she whispered aloud, after the manner of any
modern lady at one of those public meetings in which they take so
large a part with so small a result in these later days. "Is it not
wonderful?" And her French, though pure enough, was full and round-
-the French of an English tongue. "I have had a long letter from
Dormer telling me all about it. Oh--" And she broke off, silenced
by the dark frown of Albert de Chantonnay, to which her attention
had been forcibly directed by his mother. "I have been dining with
Madame de Rathe," she went on, irrepressibly, changing the subject
in obedience to Albert de Chantonnay's frown. "The Vicomtesse bids
me make her excuses. She feared an indigestion, so will be absent
to-night."

"Ah!" returned the Comtesse de Chantonnay. "It is not that. I
happen to know that the Vicomtesse de Rathe has the digestion of a