The good man sighed again despondently; Nurse Juana looked at him with
amazement, saying:

"Any one would suppose that I had just given you a piece of bad news. Can
that man have bewitched you to the extent--"

"Yes," he interrupted, "for if he goes he will not go alone; he will take
Berta with him, and then what is to become of us?"

"Nothing of the kind," replied Juana. "He will go alone--entirely alone."

"Worse and worse," said the father, "for then, what is to become of
Berta?"

"Nothing," said the nurse. "Out of sight, out of mind. The absent are
forgotten; the dead are buried. That is the way of the world. Berta knows
all about it; she told me herself, and she is as calm and as cool as
possible. Bah, she won't need any cordial to keep her up when she is
bidding him good-bye."

As she uttered the last word she turned her head and she could not
restrain the cry that rose to her lips as she saw Adrian Baker, who had
just entered--Adrian Baker, in person, paler than ever, dressed in a
handsome travelling suit. His eyes shone with a strange lustre, and a
smile, half sad, half mocking, curved his lips.

He begged a thousand pardons for the surprise which he had caused them,
and said that unforeseen circumstances obliged him to undertake a sudden
journey to New York, where he was urgently called by affairs of the
greatest importance, but that he would return soon.