looks, which expressed a joy too great for words. He held in one hand a
small scroll tied with a ribbon. He found the widow alone, sitting in a
large easy-chair before the fire. She was reading for the twentieth time
a letter which Quenriebert had written her the evening before. To judge
by the happy and contented expression of the widow's face, it must have
been couched in glowing terms. Trumeau guessed at once from whom the
missive came, but the sight of it, instead of irritating him, called
forth a smile.

"Ah! so it's you, cousin?" said the widow, folding the precious paper
and slipping it into the bosom of her dress. "How do you do? It's a long
time since I saw you, more than a fortnight, I think. Have you been ill?"

"So you remarked my absence! That is very flattering, my dear cousin;
you do not often spoil me by such attentions. No, I have not been ill,
thank God, but I thought it better not to intrude upon you so often. A
friendly call now and then such as to-day's is what you like, is it not?
By the way, tell me about your handsome suitor, Maitre Quennebert; how is
he getting along?"

"You look very knowing, Trumeau: have you heard of anything happening to
him?"

"No, and I should be exceedingly sorry to hear that anything unpleasant
had happened to him."

Now you are not saying what you think, you know you can't bear him."

"Well, to speak the truth, I have no great reason to like him. If it
were not for him, I should perhaps have been happy to-day; my love might