Louise and Raoul looked at each other to inquire who M. Malicorne could be.

“There is no occasion to mind him,” continued Montalais; “he is not jealous.”

“But, mademoiselle — ” said Raoul.

“Yes, I understand. Well, he is discreet as I am.”

“Good heavens!” cried Louise, who had applied her ear to the door, which had been left ajar; “it is my mother’s step!”

“Madame de Saint-Remy! Where shall I hide myself?” exclaimed Raoul, catching at the dress of Montalais, who looked quite bewildered.

“Yes,” said she; “yes, I know the clicking of those pattens! It is our excellent mother. M. le Vicomte, what a pity it is the window looks upon a stone pavement, and that fifty paces below it.”