“To be sure, Georges comes occasionally, but he always arrives very late, just in time for dinner, and is off again with my father in the morning before I am awake.  And then he is a serious-minded man now, is Monsieur Georges.  He works at the factory, and business cares often bring frowns to his brow.

“I had reached that point in my reflections when suddenly dear grandpapa turned abruptly to me: 

“’What has become of your little friend Sidonie?  I should be glad to have her here for a time.’

“You can imagine my delight.  What happiness to meet again, to renew the pleasant friendship that was broken off by the fault of the events of life rather than by our own!  How many things we shall have to tell each other!  You, who alone had the knack of driving the frowns from my terrible grandpapa’s brow, will bring us gayety, and I assure you we need it.

“This lovely Savigny is so lonely!  For instance, sometimes in the morning I choose to be a little coquettish.  I dress myself, I make myself beautiful with my hair in curls and put on a pretty gown; I walk through all the paths, and suddenly I realize that I have taken all this trouble for the swans and ducks, my dog Kiss, and the cows, who do not even turn to look at me when I pass.  Thereupon, in my wrath, I hurry home, put on a thick gown and busy myself on the farm, in the servants’ quarters, everywhere.  And really, I am beginning to believe that ennui has perfected me, and that I shall make an excellent housekeeper.

“Luckily the hunting season will soon be here, and I rely upon that for a little amusement.  In the first place, Georges and father, both enthusiastic sportsmen, will come oftener.  And then you will be here, you know.  For you will reply at once that you will come, won’t you?  Monsieur Risler said not long ago that you were not well.  The air of Savigny will do you worlds of good.

“Everybody here expects you.  And I am dying with impatience.

“Claire.”

Her letter written, Claire Fromont donned a large straw hat for the first days of August were warm and glorious—­and went herself to drop it in the little box from which the postman collected the mail from the chateau every morning.

It was on the edge of the park, at a turn in the road.  She paused a moment to look at the trees by the roadside, at the neighboring meadows sleeping in the bright sunlight.  Over yonder the reapers were gathering the last sheaves.  Farther on they were ploughing.  But all the melancholy of the silent toil had vanished, so far as the girl was concerned, so delighted was she at the thought of seeing her friend once more.

No breeze came from the hills in the distance, no voice from the trees, to warn her by a presentiment, to prevent her from sending that fatal letter.  And immediately upon her return she gave her attention to the preparation of a pretty bedroom for Sidonie adjoining her own.