few minutes longer, and then took his leave and slammed the door. Then
Cecile sighed, and said to Christophe:

"Yes.... He is my brother."

Christophe understood:

"Ah!" he said.... "I know.... I have a brother, too...."

Cecile took his hand with an air of affectionate commiseration:

"You too?"

"Yes," he said.... "These are the joys of a family."

Cecile laughed, and they changed the conversation. No, the joys of a
family had no enchantment for her, nor had the idea of marriage any
fascination: men were rather a worthless lot on the whole. Her
independent life had many advantages: her mother had often sighed after
her liberty: she had no desire to lose it. The only day-dream in which
she indulged was that some day--Heaven knows when!--she would not have
to give lessons any more, and would be able to live in the county. But
she did not even take the trouble to imagine such a life in detail: she
found it too fatiguing to think of anything so uncertain: it was better
to sleep,--or do her work....

In the meanwhile, in default of her castle in Spain, she used to hire a
little house in the outskirts of Paris for the summer, and lived there
with her mother. It was twenty minutes' journey by train. The house was
some distance away from the station, standing alone in the midst of a