they are too delicate for eyes that see only the outside of nature.
Her gaiety is betrayed to me by the tones of her voice, by certain
accents which I alone can catch and understand. Modeste then, instead
of sitting still and thoughtful, gives vent to a wild, inward activity
by impulsive movements,--in short, she is happy. There is a grace, a
charm in the very ideas she utters. Ah, my friends, I know happiness
as well as I know sorrow; I know its signs. By the kiss my Modeste
gives me I can guess what is passing within her. I know whether she
has received what she was looking for, or whether she is uneasy or
expectant. There are many gradations in a kiss, even in that of an
innocent young girl, and Modeste is innocence itself; but hers is the
innocence of knowledge, not of ignorance. I may be blind, but my
tenderness is all-seeing, and I charge you to watch over my daughter."

Dumay, now actually ferocious, the notary, in the character of a man
bound to ferret out a mystery, Madame Latournelle, the deceived
chaperone, and Madame Dumay, alarmed for her husband's safety, became
at once a set of spies, and Modeste from this day forth was never left
alone for an instant. Dumay passed nights under her window wrapped in
his cloak like a jealous Spaniard; but with all his military sagacity
he was unable to detect the least suspicious sign. Unless she loved
the nightingales in the villa park, or some fairy prince, Modeste
could have seen no one, and had neither given nor received a signal.
Madame Dumay, who never went to bed till she knew Modeste was asleep,
watched the road from the upper windows of the Chalet with a vigilance
equal to her husband's. Under these eight Argus eyes the blameless
child, whose every motion was studied and analyzed, came out of the
ordeal so fully acquitted of all criminal conversation that the four
friends declared to each other privately that Madame Mignon was
foolishly over-anxious. Madame Latournelle, who always took Modeste to