"Pierre has arrived!"

Madame Desvarennes rose abruptly. A rush of blood rose to her face, her
eyes brightened, and her lips opened with a smile.

"At last!" she cried. "But where is he? How did you hear of his
return?"

"Ah! faith, it was just by chance. I was shooting yesterday at
Fontainebleau, and I returned this morning by the express. On arriving
at Paris, I alighted on the platform, and there I found myself face to
face with a tall young man with a long beard, who, seeing me pass, called
out, 'Ah, Cayrol!' It was Pierre. I only recognized him by his voice.
He is much changed; with his beard, and his complexion bronzed like an
African."

"What did he say to you?"

"Nothing. He pressed my hand. He looked at me for a moment with
glistening eyes. There was something on his lips which he longed to ask,
yet did not; but I guessed it. I was afraid of giving way to tenderness,
that might have ended in my saying something foolish, so I left him."

"How long ago is that?"

"About an hour ago. I only just ran home before coming on here. There I
found Panine waiting for me. He insisted upon accompanying me. I hope
you won't blame him?"

Madame Desvarennes frowned.