Though Madame de Mortsauf had spoken only one word at the ball, I
recognized her voice, which entered my soul and filled it as a ray of
sunshine fills and gilds a prisoner's dungeon. Thinking, suddenly,
that she might remember my face, my first impulse was to fly; but it
was too late,--she appeared in the doorway, and our eyes met. I know
not which of us blushed deepest. Too much confused for immediate
speech she returned to her seat at an embroidery frame while the
servant placed two chairs, then she drew out her needle and counted
some stitches, as if to explain her silence; after which she raised
her head, gently yet proudly, in the direction of Monsieur de Chessel
as she asked to what fortunate circumstance she owed his visit. Though
curious to know the secret of my unexpected appearance, she looked at
neither of us,--her eyes were fixed on the river; and yet you could
have told by the way she listened that she was able to recognize, as
the blind do, the agitations of a neighboring soul by the
imperceptible inflexions of the voice.

Monsieur de Chessel gave my name and biography. I had lately arrived
at Tours, where my parents had recalled me when the armies threatened
Paris. A son of Touraine to whom Touraine was as yet unknown, she
would find me a young man weakened by excessive study and sent to
Frapesle to amuse himself; he had already shown me his estate, which I
saw for the first time. I had just told him that I had walked from
Tours to Frapesle, and fearing for my health--which was really
delicate--he had stopped at Clochegourde to ask her to allow me to
rest there. Monsieur de Chessel told the truth; but the accident
seemed so forced that Madame de Mortsauf distrusted us. She gave me a
cold, severe glance, under which my own eyelids fell, as much from a
sense of humiliation as to hide the tears that rose beneath them. She
saw the moisture on my forehead, and perhaps she guessed the tears;