be in order to satisfy his wounded pride, then? Perhaps he did not wish
it to be said that he owed anything to a son-in-law.

Maurice was exhausting all his ingenuity and penetration in endeavoring
to solve this mystery, when at last, on a foot-path which crosses the
waste, a woman appeared--Marie-Anne.

He rose, but fearing observation, did not venture to leave the shelter
of the grove.

Marie-Anne must have felt a similar fear, for she hurried on, casting
anxious glances on every side as she ran. Maurice remarked, not without
surprise, that she was bare-headed, and that she had neither shawl nor
scarf about her shoulders.

As she reached the edge of the wood, he sprang toward her, and catching
her hand raised it to his lips.

But this hand, which she had so often yielded to him, was now gently
withdrawn, with so sad a gesture that he could not help feeling there
was no hope.

"I came, Maurice," she began, "because I could not endure the thought of
your anxiety. By doing so I have betrayed my father's confidence--he was
obliged to leave home. I hastened here. And yet I promised him, only two
hours ago, that I would never see you again. You hear me--never!"

She spoke hurriedly, but Maurice was appalled by the firmness of her
accent.