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By Root 1372 0

a few words uttered by Philippe, harsh phrases in which occurred such expressions as “child, family, honour.” In his anxiety to hear what his darling would reply, his heart beat wildly, almost stunning him with its confused hum. No doubt she would retaliate with a “stupid fool!” or a “go to the deuce, I’m in my own house!” But nothing came from her, not even the sound of breathing ; it seemed as though Nana was dead in there. Soon, too, his brother’s voice became softer. He could no longer understand anything, when suddenly a strange noise completed his amazement. It was Nana sobbing. For an instant contrary feelings struggled within him. He felt impelled to run away—to rush in at Philippe. But just at that moment Zoé entered the bed-room, and he withdrew from the door, ashamed at having been caught.

She quietly put some linen away in a cupboard, whilst he, dumb and immovable, and a prey to uncertainty, pressed his forehead against a window-pane. After a short silence, she asked:

“Is it your brother who’s with madame?”

“Yes,” replied he, in a choking voice.

“And are you uneasy about it, Monsieur George?” she inquired after another silence.

“Yes,” he repeated with the same painful difficulty.

Zoé did not hurry herself. She folded up some lace, and then said slowly,

“You should not be. Madame will settle everything all right.”

And that was all. They did not speak again; but she did not leave the room. For another quarter of an hour she moved about, without noticing the exasperation of the youth, who grew pale with constraint and doubt. He gave side glances in the direction of the drawing-room. What could they be doing all that while? Perhaps Nana was still crying. The ruffian must have slapped her. So when Zoé at length went off, he ran back to the door, and again held his ear to the key-hole; and he was quite bewildered, his brain in a whirl, for he heard a sudden burst of gaiety, tender voices whispering, and the smothered laughter of a woman being tickled. But almost immediately Nana conducted Philippe to the staircase, with an interchange of cordial and familiar expressions. When George at length ventured into the parlour, the young woman was standing in front of the mirror, looking at herself.

“Well?” he asked, scarcely able to say a word.

“Well, what?” said she, without turning round. Then she negligently added, “What were you saying? He’s a very nice fellow, your brother!”

“Then it’s all settled?”

“Of course, it’s settled. Really! what’s the matter with you? Did you think we were going to fight?”

But still George did not understand. “I thought I heard—” he stammered out. “Have you not been crying?”

“Crying? I?” she exclaimed, looking him straight in the face. “You were dreaming! Whatever did you think I had to cry about?”

And the youngster got still more confused when she scolded him for having been disobedient and listened at the key-hole, spying upon her. As she continued cross with him, he resumed, very submissively and coaxingly, wishing to know,

“Then my brother?”

“Your brother saw at once where he was. You see I might have been some low common girl, and then he would have been right to interfere, on account of your age and the family honour. Oh! I understand those feelings. But a glance was sufficient for him; he behaved like a man of the world. So don’t be uneasy—it’s all over; he will ease your mother’s mind.” And she continued with a laugh, “Besides, you’ll see your brother here. I’ve invited him, and he’ll come.”

“Ah! he’s coming again,” said the youngster, turning pale.

He said nothing more, and they no longer talked of Philippe. She was dressing to go out, and he watched her with his big sad eyes. No doubt he was pleased that matter had been arranged, for he would have preferred death to not seeing Nana again; but in his heart there was a silent anguish, a deep pain, which he had never felt before, and which he did not dare to mention. He never knew how Philippe had quieted their mother’s anxiety. Three days later she returned to Les Fondettes, seeming quite satisfied. That same night,