“But, my dear child, no one hates you; you would be received with transports of joy, like the prodigal child.  If you deem it too painful to return to my home—­if you fear to find or to bring trouble there with you—­God knows how mistaken you are on this point! but still, if you do fear it, is that a reason why you should bury yourself alive and break my heart?  Could you not return into the world without returning to my own house, and without having to face all those difficulties that frighten you?  There would be a very simple way of doing that, you know!”

“What is it?” said Julia quietly; “to marry?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Clotilde, shaking her head gently and lowering her voice.

“But, mon Dieu! mother, what possible chance is there of such a thing?  Suppose I were willing—­and I am far from it—­I know no one, no one knows me.”

“There is some one,” rejoined Clotilde, with increasing timidity; “some one whom you know perfectly well, and who—­who adores you.”

Julia opened her eyes wide with a pensive and surprised expression, and after a brief pause of reflection: 

“Pierre?” she said.

“Yes,” murmured Clotilde, pale with anxiety.

Julia’s eyebrows became slightly contracted; she raised her head and remained for a few seconds with her eyes fixed upon the ceiling; then, with a slight shrug of her shoulders: 

“Why not?” she said gravely.  “I would as soon have him as any one else!”

Clotilde uttered a feeble cry, and grasping both her daughter’s hands: 

“You consent?” she said; “you really consent?  And may I take your answer to him?”

“Yes, but you had better change the text of it,” said Julia, laughing.

“Oh! my darling, darling dear!” exclaimed Clotilde, covering Julia’s hands with kisses; “but repeat again that it is all true—­that by to-morrow you will not have changed your mind.”

“I will not change my mind,” said Julia, firmly, in her grave and musical voice.

She meditated for a moment and then resumed: 

“Really, he loves me, that big fellow!”

“Like a madman.”

“Poor man!  And he is waiting for an answer?”

“With the utmost anxiety.”

“Well, go and quiet his fears.  We will take up the subject again to-morrow.  I require to put a little order in my thoughts after all this confusion and excitement, you understand; but you may rest easy.  I have decided.”

When Madame de Lucan returned home, Pierre de Moras was waiting for her in the parlor.  He turned very pale when he saw her.

“Pierre!” she said, all panting still, “come and kiss me, you are my son!  Respectfully, if you please, respectfully!” she added laughingly as he lifted her up and clasped her to his heart.

A little later, he had the gratification of treating in the same manner the Baroness de Pers, who had been sent for in haste.