“Ah!” exclaimed M. Daburon, whose eyes were suddenly opened, “I remember now.  A few days before your visit to Mademoiselle Goello, you are gayer than usual; and, when you return, you are often sad.”

“That is because I see how much he is pained by the obstacles he cannot overcome.”

“Is his family, then, so illustrious,” asked the magistrate harshly, “that it disdains alliance with yours?”

“I should have told you everything, without waiting to be questioned, sir,” answered Mademoiselle d’Arlange, “even his name.  He is called Albert de Commarin.”

The marchioness at this moment, thinking she had walked enough, was preparing to return to her rose-coloured boudoir.  She therefore approached the arbour, and exclaimed in her loud voice:—­

“Worthy magistrate, piquet awaits you.”

Mechanically the magistrate arose, stammering, “I am coming.”

Claire held him back.  “I have not asked you to keep my secret, sir,” said she.

“O mademoiselle!” said M. Daburon, wounded by this appearance of doubt.

“I know,” resumed Claire, “that I can count upon you; but, come what will, my tranquillity is gone.”

M. Daburon looked at her with an air of surprise; his eyes questioned her.

“It is certain,” continued she, “that what I, a young and inexperienced girl, have failed to see, has not passed unnoticed by my grandmother.  That she has continued to receive you is a tacit encouragement of your addresses; which I consider, permit me to say, as very honourable to myself.”

“I have already mentioned, mademoiselle,” replied the magistrate, “that the marchioness has deigned to authorise my hopes.”

And briefly he related his interview with Madame d’Arlange, having the delicacy, however, to omit absolutely the question of money, which had so strongly influenced the old lady.

“I see very plainly what effect this will have on my peace,” said Claire sadly.  “When my grandmother learns that I have not received your homage, she will be very angry.”

“You misjudge me, mademoiselle,” interrupted M. Daburon.  “I have nothing to say to the marchioness.  I will retire, and all will be concluded.  No doubt she will think that I have altered my mind!”

“Oh! you are good and generous, I know!”

“I will go away,” pursued M. Daburon; “and soon you will have forgotten even the name of the unfortunate whose life’s hopes have just been shattered.”

“You do not mean what you say,” said the young girl quickly.

“Well, no.  I cherish this last illusion, that later on you will remember me with pleasure.  Sometimes you will say, ‘He loved me,’ I wish all the same to remain your friend, yes, your most devoted friend.”

Claire, in her turn, clasped M. Daburon’s hands, and said with great emotion:—­“Yes, you are right, you must remain my friend.  Let us forget what has happened, what you have said to-night, and remain to me, as in the past, the best, the most indulgent of brothers.”