to give her the names of the best masters of Latin, drawing, and
mathematics; and a second time to make arrangements for the children's
lessons. But her appearance on the bridge of an evening, once or twice
a week, was quite enough to excite the interest of almost all the
inhabitants of Tours, who make a regular promenade of the bridge.
Still, in spite of a kind of spy system, by which no harm is meant, a
provincial habit bred of want of occupation and the restless
inquisitiveness of the principal society, nothing was known for
certain of the newcomer's rank, fortune, or real condition. Only, the
owner of La Grenadiere told one or two of his friends that the name
under which the stranger had signed the lease (her real name,
therefore, in all probability) was Augusta Willemsens, Countess of
Brandon. This, of course, must be her husband's name. Events, which
will be narrated in their place, confirmed this revelation; but it
went no further than the little world of men of business known to the
landlord.

So Madame Willemsens was a continual mystery to people of condition.
Hers was no ordinary nature; her manners were simple and delightfully
natural, the tones of her voice were divinely sweet,--this was all
that she suffered others to discover. In her complete seclusion, her
sadness, her beauty so passionately obscured, nay, almost blighted,
there was so much to charm, that several young gentlemen fell in love;
but the more sincere the lover, the more timid he became; and besides,
the lady inspired awe, and it was a difficult matter to find enough
courage to speak to her. Finally, if a few of the bolder sort wrote to
her, their letters must have been burned unread. It was Mme.
Willemsens' practice to throw all the letters which she received into
the fire, as if she meant that the time spent in Touraine should be
untroubled by any outside cares even of the slightest. She might have