J i
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 m
 
 ''SITRELY," HK SAID, "a HEART LIKE YOURS.
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE 
 
 % ^''orcl 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY C. S. REINHART 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HARPER k BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
 1885
 
 Copyright, 1885, by Harper & Brothers. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 PR 
 
 497/ 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 " SURELY," HE SAID, " A HEART LIKE YOURS " FrOntispiece 
 
 SHE PUT ONE HAND ON HER BOSOM 33 
 
 " GOOD-MORNING, MADEMOISELLE," SAID LOIGEROT 61 
 
 THE CAPTAIN LEANED FORWARD AND LOOKED IMPORTANT .... 57 
 
 MADAME BOBINEAU KEPT THE SOFT GOLDEN-BROWN HAND IN HER LEAN 
 
 GRASP 69 
 
 THERE WAS A HELPLESS, APPEALING LOOK IN HIS BLUE ETES ... 97 
 
 "stand STILL, CHILD, WHILE I MEASURE YOUR SKIRT " 117 
 
 THE GALLANT CAPTAIN WAS EAGER TO SEE MARIE's DELIGHT . . . 137 
 
 "are YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME RUN AWAY?" 171 
 
 AFTER A WHILE SHE LOOKED UP 187 
 
 " WHAT DOES THIS MEAN ?" HE SAID AT LAST 223 
 
 "MADAME, I THANK YOU " 243 
 
 1050778
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 It is noonday in June in one of the old towns of Southern 
 France. A girl stands beside a fountain in the middle of a grass- 
 grown square. She is tall, and although her shabby old clothes are 
 badly made they reveal a beautiful figure. Her face and head are 
 hidden by the bright orange kerchief that shields her from the 
 scorching sunshine ; but her movements are full of languid grace as 
 she places her tall brown pitcher beneath the spout of the fountain. 
 
 "Mon Dieu," she says, impatiently, "the heat stifles me." 
 
 The square is like an oven, the very stones smell as if they were 
 baking; the j)ersien7ies of the houses that border the square are all 
 closed, there is not so much as a cab stirring. Surely every one is 
 asleep ! No ! behind one pair of green barred shutters a pair of 
 small eyes greedily note the perfection of the girl's figure and the 
 languid grace with which she leans against the old fountain. Her 
 orange kerchief casts so deep a shadow that the concealed observer 
 cannot make out her face, but he feels sure it is handsome. He 
 watches her lift the pitcher away from the slender trickle of water 
 she has set flowing, and he sees that when she perceives how heavy 
 it is, she stamps impatiently on the burning pebbles and pours some 
 of the water away. 
 
 The unseen gazer smiles ; he knows how scarce water is in the old 
 southern town. He stands watching till the girl places the pitcher 
 on her head and moves slowly out of sight. 
 
 Tlie big, full-fed looking man who has watched her rubs his hands 
 together, his small eyes are twinkling with satisfaction. He turns 
 away from the window of the eating -room, where the flies buzz 
 noisily on the pane, and rings for the waiter. That worthy is asleep, 
 his napkin over his head to keep the flies away, but the bell rouses 
 him from his nap, he whisks the napkin from his ugly face, and 
 stands obsequiously bowing before Monsieur Carouge. 
 
 Monsieur is an adroit questioner; he has soon set the waiter talk- 
 ing about all he wanted to know.
 
 8 PROLOGUE. 
 
 "Elvire, la belle Elvire? oli yes," the waiter says, with a smirk; 
 "she and her mother are very poor — monsieur cannot guess how 
 poor they are. Her father was a noble — yes, once upon a time he was 
 Marquis de — I have forgotten the title, monsieur," he goes on, 
 with a careless whisk of his napkin, " but he lodged in an old farm- 
 house in the environs. At last he married the farmer's young daugh- 
 ter, and soon left her a widow with this one child, Elvire. Well, 
 monsieur, soon after this the farmer had a fit and died, and then it 
 came out that he was insolvent. Monsieur le Marquis, however, had 
 left just money enough to keep his >vidow and her child from beg- 
 gary ; but as I say, monsieur cannot guess how poor they are. ]\Ion 
 Dieu," he gives another contemptuous flick with his napkin, "many 
 a beggar fares better than they do." 
 
 " Don't they try to earn a living?" said Carouge. 
 
 The waiter shrugs his shoulders. ' ' They might do so, monsieur, 
 but they are proud. Not so long ago a restaurant-keeper at ]\Iar- 
 seilles happened to be here, and he saw Elvire as you saw her. Well, 
 monsieur, he spoke to the mistress, and he made quite a liberal offer 
 for that girl as demoiselle de comptoir; he offered, too, to find work 
 for the mother. Pouf !" he snapped his fingers, " they refused to lis- 
 ten to the message. Madame Fontaine told our mistress that she 
 had promised her husband before he died that whatever she might 
 have to do, Elvire should never work for her living; and," the gar- 
 9on added, with a laugh, "the girl kept her mother up to her 
 promise." 
 
 " But I saw her drawing water just now," says Monsieur Carouge. 
 
 The waiter gives a sly, sleepy smile. "Elvire will do that, mon- 
 sieur," he says, "and it gives her some change, and she likes to be 
 admired; but in-doors it is different; she will not cook or clean, her 
 mother has told me so. She says, ' It is the noble blood which can- 
 not lie.' " Here the waiter jerks his thumb in a contemptuous fash- 
 ion, and Monsieur Carouge smiles. 
 
 "You seem to be acquainted with Madame Fontaine," he said; 
 "will you let her know that a gentleman wishes to call on her this 
 evening on business matters?" 
 
 The waiter looks inquisitive, but Monsieur Carouge begins to 
 light a fresh cigar. 
 
 In the evening the waiter guided him to the top of a narrow, dirty 
 street, with tumble-down looking houses on each side of it; then, 
 after learning that the number was twenty-five, and the room he
 
 PROLOGUE. 9 
 
 was in search of a quatrieme, Monsieur Carouge was left to find his 
 way. It was nearly dark, but Carouge could see that the staircase of 
 No. 25 was horribly dirty. When after knocking he was admitted 
 into a miserably furnished room, his eyes were riveted by the beau- 
 ty of the girl, who stood like a perfect statue seemingly indifferent 
 to his presence. 
 
 There was still light enough to see her face and her splendid dark 
 eyes half shadowed by their long lashes. 
 
 Carouge told the mother that he believed he had had some acquaint- 
 ance with her late husband, and that, as he was going on to Paris, 
 he would be glad to execute any commission with which she might 
 honor him. 
 
 Madame Fontaine stared at him, and then began to pour out her 
 troubles in a manner which assured him of that which he had 
 guessed from her face, namely, that she was grasping as well as poor, 
 and that she would not be difficult to deal with. He saw that the 
 girl's pride was roused by his visit, and he made it very brief. " If 
 madame will permit me," he said, "I will repeat my visit as I re- 
 turn;" then he made a low bow — "with the permission, also, of 
 mademoiselle." He thought the girl looked like a disguised princess 
 as she just bent her head in return. Carouge smiled to himself as 
 he went down the filthy staircase. 
 
 "It's all right," he thought, "she's not angry with me; she's only 
 mad that I should see her in such a hole and in such a gown— only 
 fit for a rag-picker. She will let her mother sell her, and the mother 
 will ask a good price," he said to himself, as he rubbed his fat 
 ringed fingers together. 
 
 It was quite by chance that he had stopped in this old town, and 
 he had originally had no intention of returning to it; but he could 
 not get rid of the vision of Elvire; he had to stay a fortnight in 
 Paris, and he found himself hardly able to bear the delay. At last 
 he was free; he had bought everything he thought likely to please 
 Elvire, and before he repeated his visit he sent his gifts. 
 
 To her mother Elvire at first refused to have anything to do with 
 these beautiful things ; but Carouge had been careful to include a 
 mirror among his gifts, and when the girl had seen herself in one 
 of the elegant dresses he had provided, she consented to wear it. 
 Carouge called again and was infatuated; he had not thought she 
 was so beautiful. In the self-respect that came to Elvire when she 
 discarded her shabby clothes, the cloud of brooding discontent left
 
 10 PKOLOGUE. 
 
 her face — she was gracious, smiliug even, but she would not thank 
 her benefactor; he had done it for her mother, she said, and she 
 might thank him. 
 
 Before he left the house, Carouge asked for a few moments alone 
 with Madame Fontaine. He had already discovered that she was as 
 ignorant and uncivilized as her daughter was charming. He felt 
 that he could speak without reserve. 
 
 "I wish to marry your daughter," he cried, "and I do not wish 
 to lose any time about it if you will authorize me to execute the 
 necessary formalities. I suppose the marriage can take place in a 
 week; if not, I am afraid I must give it up, as my business calls 
 me home." 
 
 Madame Fontaine stared, and said something about Elvire. Ca- 
 rouge smiled. " You can tell your daughter," he said, "that I offer 
 her a luxurious home, plenty of dresses and jewellery, and a kind 
 husband, who will try to make her life as pleasant and happy as pos- 
 sible ; if you succeed in persuading her," he said, with emphasis, 
 ' ' you shall have for yourself, for the rest of your life, one hundred 
 francs a month, with the understanding that you keep away from 
 your daughter." 
 
 Then he said good-day, and left her to reflect on his proposal. 
 
 Madame Fontaine earned her pension easily. Elvire was as indo- 
 lent as he was by nature luxurious. She craved ardently for ease 
 and comfort, as well as for all that makes life beautiful; and though 
 she was only nineteen, she was already aware that money could give 
 her all that she wanted. To her savage, undeveloped nature poverty 
 meant all that was hard, hideous, and disgraceful, and she felt grate- 
 ful to Monsieur Carouge for his offer. The marriage was soon ar- 
 ranged. Directly it was over, Carouge and his bride started for 
 Berne. He was a little troubled by the joy with which Elvire said 
 good-bye to her squalid home and to her mother; but he soon forgot 
 this, and when he at last brought his prize to the dainty nest he had 
 provided for her, a few miles out of Berne, her delight in the fresh 
 glitter of her surroundings charmed him. It seemed to Elvire that 
 she had found all she wished for in these showily furnished rooms 
 where she could see herself reflected from head to foot in tall mir- 
 rors, and lounge away the day on soft couches, or, if she pleased, 
 wander in a charming garden full of flowers. 
 
 But there was more than this: there was a steady, silent, middle- 
 aged woman, half companion, half maid, to relieve her of every
 
 PROLOGUE, 11 
 
 trouble, and Carouge constantly brought home some new present to 
 his beautiful idol. 
 
 She was to him a lovely doll, who amused him by her gentle, 
 pleasant talk, pleased him by her gratitude, and charmed his eyes by 
 her beauty and the supple grace of her movements. He did not 
 trouble himself about anything else. He told her that he was the 
 proprietor of an hotel in Berne, but this only interested her in 
 connection with the dainty dishes and excellent wines he constantly 
 brought home from this Hotel Beauregard. She seemed utterly in- 
 curious about the world beyond her garden. Carouge congratulated 
 liimself on having secured such a prize, and as months rolled by the 
 peace of his life seemed secure. The truth was that Elvire had tired 
 long ago of his idolatry, but she felt that she owed this new life en- 
 tirely to him, and she resolved not to lose her position by her own 
 fault. Something warned her that Carouge would be very severe if 
 she disobeyed him ; so she kept within the garden, which was large 
 enough to afford her a good deal of exercise, as she was by nature 
 too indolent to care for a long walk. 
 
 Twice he drove her closely veiled into Berne, but he took care to 
 choose a dull time of the year for these visits, and after the second 
 Elvire said it was a quiet, uninteresting place, and that she did not 
 wish to be taken there again. 
 
 Meantime she grew every day more beautiful. But all transition 
 periods must come to an end. Her first ambitions being satisfied, 
 other desires began to germinate in Elvire. Their growth made her 
 restless. Instead of lying for hours on her delicious sofa, she passed 
 up and down with impatient steps. The room seemed to have be- 
 come small and confined; she spent most of her time in the garden, 
 often peering through the iron gate, wondering what was happening 
 in the world outside. She was ashamed of her discontent, and she 
 said nothing to Carouge, but he soon remarked that she had lost 
 her spirits. 
 
 He questioned the duenna, for he could see that Elvire was not ill. 
 
 "She wants change," the woman said, "the sameness tires her." 
 
 Carouge shook his head. 
 
 " You are imbecile, " he said ; ' ' how can I give her change ? I can- 
 not leave my business. Why don't you get her some fancy needle- 
 work, something that will interest her. What is the use, if," he 
 added, savagely — "if you can't keep a girl like that amused." 
 
 The remedy was tried, but it failed. Elvire amused herself for 
 
 1*
 
 12 PROLOGUE. 
 
 an hour or two in examining the work and admiring the colors of 
 the embroidery silks; but she did not like needle-work, and said so. 
 
 She became more and more silent and absent, and at last one even- 
 ing Carouge said, abruptly, " What ails you, child?" 
 
 Elvira tixed her dark, liquid eyes on his face, her cheeks glowed 
 till he thought they looked like nectarines. 
 
 " Shall I tell you?" she said, gi-avely. 
 
 "Yes, little one;" but he was startled by the new expression he 
 met in her eyes. 
 
 Elvire had already rehearsed this scene; she knew it must come, 
 and she knew what she wanted to say, but she could hardly get her 
 words out. 
 
 He waited patiently. 
 
 At last, abruptly, almost harshly, she said, "I want to live in 
 Berne, to see other people, to do as they do." 
 
 An oath burst from Carouge, but the girl turned so pale that he 
 forced a smile. 
 
 "Why, my angel, do I not make you happy here?" 
 
 She looked at him gratefully, with tears in her eyes. 
 
 " You have been very good to me, but you are not always here. 
 I am alone all day, and I — I want to see other ladies. I want to see 
 if I am like them. I can only read and w^rite ; ladies can do many 
 other things!" 
 
 "They do many things best left undone," he said, brutally. "You 
 are quite clever enough for me; I like you as you are." 
 
 Elvire rose and stood before him, her eyes flashing, her bosom 
 heaving with roused passion. 
 
 " I belong to myself as well as to you," she said : " I am not clever 
 enough for myself! How can I know anything while I live cooped 
 up like a slave?" 
 
 Carouge swore fiercely. 
 
 "A wife has only got to please her husband," he said, doggedly; 
 "it is my pleasure that you stay here." 
 
 He thought that she would burst out crying, and that he should 
 pacify her by the promise of a new gown or a trinket; but to his 
 surprise she turned away proudly and in silence. 
 
 For a whole week she pouted in his presence, and cried passion- 
 ately when she was alone ; but Carouge remained obstinate. At the 
 end of ten days his young wife had become pale and thin, and there 
 was a desperate look in her eyes. Carouge became frightened; he
 
 PROLOGUE. 13 
 
 had expected she would yield, and proposed a compromise : Elvire 
 must continue to live at the villa in the same secluded way as be- 
 fore, but a very old and deaf professor should come out from Berne 
 and teach her all she wanted to learn. 
 
 Elvire's gratitude delighted her husband. She took a liking to 
 the kind old professor, and for about two years she worked hard at 
 the studies he marked out for her guidance. He brought her books 
 and showed her how to use them — books of history and travel, and 
 some carefully chosen biographies. Carouge had been firm on one 
 point: he had forbidden the professor to give his pupil any love- 
 stories. It never occun-ed to him that such subjects will occasion- 
 ally trespass into history. 
 
 Elvire proved wonderfully apt ; she learned to speak and to write 
 correctly, she took pleasure in the old-fashioned knowledge her 
 master taught. 
 
 But there was one great drawback to the happiness produced by 
 this mental cultivation. Although it subdued her restlessness and 
 filled her mind with new thoughts, she soon discovered that her hus- 
 band was coarser and less congenial than she had thought him. He 
 had no sympathy with her studies, and she felt it a hardship to be 
 obliged to put away her books when he came in. Carouge was not 
 sensitive, but her indifference mortified him ; and when the old pro- 
 fessor died he openly rejoiced. 
 
 "I'll have no more teaching here," he said. "You can teach 
 yourself if you want to learn any more ; but I think you know quite 
 enough." 
 
 Elvire was very angry, but this time Carouge remained obstinate. 
 At first she gave up her studies, in the hope of making her husband 
 yield to her wish for another teacher; but very soon she went back 
 to her indolent do - nothing ways, and rarely opened one of her 
 books. 
 
 "I wish I could sleep life away," she said, despairingly. The 
 house was no longer in her eyes a dainty, furnished nest; it had 
 become a prison, and Carouge was her jailer. 
 
 Usually she was quiet with him, answering only when spoken to ; 
 but lately she had twice shown her husband that she had a violent 
 temper and a stubborn will. The first time she told him he had no 
 right to keep her cooped up like a nun, and the last time he remon- 
 strated with her on her quiet, dull manner, she said she would run 
 away and go back to her mother, and see with her own eyes whether
 
 14 PROLOGUE. 
 
 men and women were as uninteresting as he said they were. Carouge 
 was terribly puzzled; suddenly he remembered how absorbed she 
 had formerly been in her studies. He wished now he had allowed 
 her to continue them, for he certainly had reaped no advantage from 
 their cessation; she had become far more indifferent to him since 
 the professor's death. He went into a bookseller's, bought her sev- 
 eral volumes which the shopman told him were educational, and 
 took them home that evening to Elvire. She looked at them, but 
 although she thanked him she said her taste for reading was over. 
 
 Fortunately for Carouge there came a spell of rainy weather, and 
 one morning Elvire opened a book of travel. She soon became in- 
 terested, and at the end of a few weeks she asked her husband to 
 bring her more books. He was delighted; she had become gentler, 
 and the sombre, clouded expression had left her eyes. 
 
 He was wise enough to understand that this newly awakened 
 taste must be encouraged if he wished to keep his beautiful, un- 
 manageable wife quiet. He need not, however, have feared that the 
 wilful beauty would have attempted to run away. Whenever a 
 wild idea of flight suggested itself, a double motive checked it. 
 
 Elvire thought it would be foolish to risk so much comfort and a 
 certain sort of enjoyment for a mere whim; for something warned 
 her that Monsieur Carouge would never forgive such an act of dis- 
 obedience, and also, she thought, it would be very ungrateful to grieve 
 and di.sobey him. With all his fondness, Carouge had inspired her 
 with a very restraining fear of him. If he were to cast her off, she 
 must either go back to her mother, to her shabby clothes and scanty 
 food, or she must work to earn her living — and this idea was almost 
 more repulsive than the other. 
 
 If Carouge had been wise he would have stuck to solid books in 
 his catering. Unluckily he had a great admiration for English 
 women— he thought them simple and modest ; the books they read 
 could not surely hurt Elvire. So one day he came home in a very 
 gay mood. 
 
 " See, my angel," he said, " I have brought you a present. When 
 I was young, some thirty years ago, these pretty gilded little books 
 were left at the Beauregard by an English miss. My father told me 
 to keep them till they were claimed, but they have never been asked 
 for. So there they are; they are yours, my beauty." 
 
 Elvire admired the dainty little volumes. She looked at their titles : 
 " Paul et Virginie," " Mathilde," " Atala." " Ah, what is this?"—
 
 PROLOGUE. 15 
 
 she took up two tiny books in white vellum bindings — " 'Caroline 
 de Lichfield.' Thank you," she said, " I believe this is a story, and 
 I have read few stories. I shall be sure to like this one, the out- 
 side is so pretty." 
 
 As she read the little old - fashioned love - tale, a new sensation 
 wakened in Elvire. What was this love, so tender and yet so pass- 
 ing — this strange power which produced in one character self- 
 sacrifice and in another self-love? She was troubled, fevered, ab- 
 sorbed, but she could not take her eyes from the little dainty pages, 
 over which hovered a faint perfume of ottar of roses. 
 
 Carouge came home earlier than usual, but Elvire did not come to 
 the door in answer to his summons. He hurried into the garden, 
 and found her lying on the grass, absorbed in her book. She started 
 up ; her face was flushed and excited. She stared at him with dreamy 
 eyes. 
 
 Carouge burst out laughing. 
 
 "Have I roused you from sleep, my child? I'm afraid the book 
 isn't a lively one if it sends you to sleep. Let me see it." 
 
 Elvire smiled, but she held the book fast. 
 
 Through the evening Carouge was charmed by her gentle, pensive 
 manner. Next day, and the next, and the next, Elvire was full 
 of sweet, languid melancholy ; she looked charming, her husband 
 thought. 
 
 On the fourth evening Carouge came home in boisterous spirits, 
 and when dinner was over he began to tease Elvire about her books. 
 She had finished " Caroline " and was reading " Mathilde." 
 
 "They don't make people merry!" He chucked her under the 
 chin. 
 
 She frowned, and pushed his hand away as if it stung her. 
 
 "Merry indeed!" she said, with such intense scorn that he looked 
 up in surprise. 
 
 "What is the matter, child?" he sa-id. 
 
 Elvire burst into a passion of tears and hurried out of the room. 
 
 This time Carouge did not swear, he thought seriously over the 
 matter. He had known a good deal about women, and he began to 
 watch his wife. He saw that she was again becoming pale and 
 languid, and he noticed, too, that she had lost her appetite. 
 
 Once more he consulted the house-keeper; but she only frowned 
 and shook her head. 
 
 "Nothing pleases madame now," she said; "she eats nothing,
 
 16 PROLOGUE. 
 
 monsieur, and she cries every day. Monsieur does not like me to 
 say so, but I think madame wants change." 
 
 Yes, Elvire wanted change, but not the sort of change meant by 
 her house-keeper. Carouge called in a doctor; but when he had 
 paid a long visit, the doctor also shook his head. 
 
 " She is not ill," he said, "she is low and nervous. Give her a 
 change and as much variety as you can." 
 
 Carouge felt angry and unbelieving. If Elvire was not ill, he 
 considered it was her duty to appear well and not to give way to 
 nervous fancies. 
 
 " She could get over them if she tried," he said, angrily. 
 
 She did not, however, get over them ; she became daily more lan- 
 guid, and she shrank from her husband more and more. 
 
 At last Carouge followed the doctor's advice; he took her to Berne 
 and to Interlaken, when these places were nearly empty of visitors. 
 Elvire was pleased ; she brightened up. For a week or so she was 
 smiling and cheerful, then she relapsed into her silent, abstracted 
 state. There was one new feature in it: every now and then, with- 
 out any conscious provocation on his part, Carouge met her eyes, 
 filled with passionate indignation, and when he inquired how he had 
 offended her she refused to answer. 
 
 So after a while he let her alone. One of the fits of passion which 
 he knew she was capable of would have been a relief from her 
 dreary indifference. His bower of bliss had changed its character, 
 and Carouge began to stay later and later at the Beauregard. He 
 drank so much wine, too, that he often found it advisable to 
 sleep there. So years slipped by, till one day Carouge died sud- 
 dcnl}^ 
 
 The news was brought to Elvire, and she could scarcely conceal 
 her joy. She was free — free from the husband she had grown to 
 hate, and from the bondage which had become intolerable. She had 
 hated Carouge ever since she had longed to love ; she had loved, in 
 fact, a dream love which she now resolved to find. She was free to 
 go out into the world and seek it. She soon learned that she was 
 rich as well as free. Carouge had no near relations, and he had 
 bequeathed all he possessed to his wife. 
 
 "Ah! but I do not owe him much," the beautiful woman said; 
 "he has wasted my youth. I am eight-and- twenty, and I have not 
 yet begun to live."
 
 BSMm 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MARIE. 
 
 "Take your places! take your places! The train is going to 
 start." Then, in a louder voice, "The train for Lausanne!" This 
 on one side of the big station. On the other was heard, in yet 
 harsher tones, "A stay of live minutes — Berne! Berne!" 
 
 Out of this train, which had just arrived from Lucerne, were 
 pouring scores of travellers — English, American, German, and others 
 — their arms full of rugs and bags, etc. At first they did not hurry, 
 but went about with their burdens in search of porters with whom 
 to deposit them. But when the warning cry was heard from the 
 other side, they hurried on, staggering under the weight of their 
 varied impedimenta. 
 
 A tall official at the top of the steps at the end of the platform 
 shouted out to them to make haste, and pointed to the train about 
 to start for Lausanne, quite on the farther side of the wide area ; 
 but greater haste was impossible for many of the travellers. A tall, 
 gray-haired man, encumbered with bags and sticks, limped along
 
 18 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 with a look of despair on his charming, high-bred face. A young 
 Swiss girl saw his trouble, and presently catching sight of a porter 
 with a truck, she pounced upon him like a hawk. 
 
 ' ' Do you not see, " she said, eagerly, ' ' the gentleman is lame, and 
 he will not be in time? You are going across with those boxes; can 
 you not also take his luggage?" 
 
 While she spoke, the Englishman had flung his load on the truck, 
 and then, taking off his hat, he thanked the girl, and asked if he 
 could help her. 
 
 "No, thank you, su'," she said, in a fresh, young voice. "I stay 
 at Berne. " 
 
 He bowed again, and went on. 
 
 The girl looked wistfully after him, then round the station, where 
 all was bustle and confusion; then she turned to follow the stream 
 of travellers going towards the way out. Here they had to run the 
 gantlet of a line of omnibus conductors, each bearing the name of 
 his hotel on his cap ; some were silent, only holding up their fingers, 
 but others clamored for passengers. The other travellers were soon 
 relieved of their burdens, but the young girl only hugged her bag 
 more closely when an officious conductor tried to take it from her. 
 
 She was tall, and although young and fair, looked far more capa- 
 ble of carrying a load than many of the pale English women she had 
 seen starting on their second journey. She too was pale, but evi- 
 dently this was a natural tint; there was no sign of ill health or 
 feebleness in her face. Indeed, her pale, clear skin matched well 
 with the light brown hair that waved over her forehead, and with 
 the gray eyes below; these eyes darkened and brightened, and a 
 faint rosy color showed itself, as the man again tried to take her 
 bag. 
 
 "You must be going somewhere in the town," he said. " Come 
 with me. See! I have plenty of room." And he pointed to a little 
 omnibus, the shabbiest in the row drawn up in front of the station. 
 
 The girl bit her lips. The noise and bustle had made her head 
 spin, and she would gladly have taken shelter from it; but she re- 
 membered the directions she had received. She pulled out a bit of 
 folded paper from her glove, and held it for the man to read. 
 
 " Spitalgasse," he said — "Madame Bobineau; that's the glove shop 
 — oh!" His interest vanished, and he turned away. 
 
 "You are close by, my girl," he said, over his shoulder. "Go 
 straight on ; you will see the shop under the arcade, a little way be-
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 19 
 
 yond the corner of the Place yonder; a large red glove hangs over 
 the shop." 
 
 "Please stop," the girl said, in a frightened voice. " I was to ask 
 some one — you, perhaps— if your omnibus goes past Madame Bo- 
 bineau's house." 
 
 " Yes, yes — what then?" he said. He was less surly now. 
 
 "Then I am to give you this" — she gave him her luggage ticket 
 — "and I was to ask you to bring my box to Madame Bobineau's, 
 in the Spitalgasse." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders and grunted. The girl, without anoth- 
 er look at him, darted out into the street, and then stopped, bewil- 
 dered by the movement around her. 
 
 It was market-day in Berne, and besides the crowd of small vehi- 
 cles, there were groups of peasant women in sober costume of black 
 and white, varied by flower-crowned hats, and silver chains hanging 
 from each shoulder of their bodices. Also it was the last week in 
 July, and Berne was full of tourists, either just arrived or just set- 
 ting out in search of health and amusement. 
 
 Marie Peyrolles, fresh from her quiet convent home near Lake 
 Lucerne, felt dazed rather than amused. She had no link of sym- 
 pathy to connect her with the bustle in the street. The stalwart 
 milk-carriers, bending under the weight of their wooden milk-cans, 
 or walking beside the huge yellow dogs that drew their milk-bar- 
 rows, had no word or message for her. They nodded to the women 
 at the fruit-stalls beside the road, to the girls at the fountains, or to 
 other women who passed them; the comers in from the villages 
 told their bits of gossip or did their marketing as they went up the 
 long street towards the Clock Tower. The sun shone hotly on the 
 round stones of the street, and birds in their cages sang merrily 
 among the flowers at the blind-shaded windows. 
 
 Marie did not see sorrow anywhere, but her heart was heavy; she 
 felt a forlorn stranger amid all this life and bustle, and she stood 
 fairly scared at the corner of the large Place, looking up and down 
 the four ways that met there. 
 
 "Was it left or right I had to turn?" she said, aud her eyes grew 
 larger still with terror aud sadness. 
 
 She had that morning said good-bye to all she loved — the good 
 sisters of St. Esprit— and now, before her tears were dry, she had 
 lost her way in seeking her guardian's house. Marie had tried not 
 to prejudice herself against this guardian, her old cousin, Madame
 
 20 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Bobineau. She knew that she had no claim on her, and that, as the 
 good sisters had said, it was very kind and generous of her cousin 
 to come forward and offer to provide for her. IMarie had often felt 
 a longing to see what the world was like beyond the little village 
 near the convent; but, so far, she was chilled and frightened — she 
 thought her cousin would have met her — and now she feared she 
 would scold her for having lost her way. She stood still, and tried 
 to keep back some fresh tears which were scalding her eyelids. 
 
 In a minute or two she became aware that a short, stout, very up- 
 right man, with a round, placid, whiskerless face, was staring at her. 
 He seemed to have stopped for no other purpose. There he stood, 
 his legs wide apart, his small black eyes and his mouth wide open, 
 surveying her with much complacency. 
 
 At first Marie frowned : she thought it was rude of him to stare 
 so. Her second thought was that he looked good-natured, and 
 would perhaps help her. 
 
 "If you please, sir," she said, growing rosy, for she felt much 
 shyer in speaking to this stranger than she had felt in helping the 
 Englishman, "can you tell me if I am near the Spitalgasse?" 
 
 The stout man had raised his hat at the first word; he bowed 
 profoundly. 
 
 "I am at your service, mademoiselle," he said. "This is the 
 Spitalgasse" — he pointed to the arcaded street on the left; then 
 seeing the tears hanging on her eyelashes, he divined some of her 
 uneasiness. "If mademoiselle will have the goodness to tell me 
 where she is going, I will gladly show her the way." He looked 
 hard at her, and pushed up the tuft of hair on his chin with a fat, 
 stumpy finger. 
 
 But the nuns had bade Marie beware of strange men, and she re- 
 membered how the conductor had told her to find the shop. 
 
 "I thank you, monsieur," she said, shyly, "but I know my way 
 now." 
 
 Her grateful glance completed her conquest over the stout man. 
 He stood looldng after her, hat in hand, with his feet set widely 
 apart. 
 
 " She is a dainty morsel," he said to himself, "fresh as a bunch 
 of flowers. My friend Loigerot, if you do not find out where this 
 pretty bird is going to perch, you are not worthy to have been a 
 captain in the Forty-fifth Regiment of the Emperor Napoleon the 
 Third."
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 21 
 
 He had put on his hat, but at this he uncovered again, and glanced 
 at the decoration on his coat. No one looliing at him could mistake 
 his profession or his country. One sees such middle-aged warriors 
 by the dozen, in their blue frocks and sword-belts and red breeches, 
 in any French garrison town ; and although he had quitted the 
 army, and wore plain clothes, Monsieur Loigerot had a way, as he 
 walked, of putting his hand now and then to adjust the sword which 
 no longer hung beside him. His broad, cheerful face looked serene 
 and untroubled ; no lines furrowed his brown forehead, though it 
 must be owned that the hair had receded from it, and was even a 
 little gray. He had lately inherited some property — a little country 
 bouse near Strasbourg, and some land had been left to him by an 
 old relative whose affairs would take some months to settle; and so, 
 after thirty years of army life. Captain Achille Loigerot had decided 
 to give up soldiering and settle down as a quiet citizen. In a few 
 months' time he should come into possession of his property, and 
 then he meant to marry; meantime he had come to Berne to look 
 up an old acquaintance, one of the few he could lay claim to. His 
 friend kept a hotel in Berne, but on arriving in that city Monsieur 
 Loigerot found that Jacques Carouge, whom he had. not seen for 
 twenty years, was dead, and that his young widow was left hostess 
 of the Hotel Beauregard. 
 
 This very morning he had reminded Madame Carouge of the 
 Beauregard that he wanted a wife : not too young — a sensible, pleas- 
 ant woman, who would manage his house and make life agreeable. 
 
 The handsome widow had nodded and told him he would find 
 plenty for the asking, and then he had timidly invoked her aid in 
 the search. ' ' Quiet and amiable, and about thirty-five, " he said, 
 in a shamefaced way. Just now the sight of this fair young coun- 
 try girl had scattered these sober visions; and although he did not 
 follow Marie closely, he determined to keep her in sight, and Mon- 
 sieur Loigerot went up the Spitalgasse on the other side of the way, 
 knowing well that under the arcades, crowded as they were to-day, 
 it would not be easy for the girl to distinguish him. Both sides of 
 the street were so full that it cost him much vigilance not to lose 
 sight of the girl over the way ; every shop-window had its group of 
 gazers, and in the street between was a double line of fruit and veg- 
 etable stalls, so that vehicles coming up or going down found it dif- 
 ficult to pass between the stalls. 
 
 All at once a horse turned restive, backed against a pile of plums
 
 22 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 and pears, and sent the rich -hued fruit rolling over the stones. 
 Monsieur Loigerot stood still, laughing heartily at the promptitude 
 with which a score of urchins flung themselves on the spoil, while 
 the owner, a shrivelled old woman, scolded and grumbled and chat- 
 tered through her toothless gums, and frowned till the lines in her 
 brown face looked inky, and her small eyes like a pair of shining 
 black beads. It was all over in a moment. The subdued horse was 
 led off, the old woman's stall was righted, and Monsieur Loigerot 
 looked across the street to see whether his country girl had also en- 
 joyed the little scene. She had vanished. Opposite him was the 
 Stork Fountain, gray-green with age, and just behind this was the 
 glover's shop, over which he lodged, with a plump, huge, scarlet 
 glove hanging over the door-way. Beyond was a confectioner's, 
 and its windows were extra gay to-day ; there was a brave show of 
 delicate cakes, frosted with sugar or brown with chocolate, cream 
 tarts, and many colored fondants. He peered curiously in, for it 
 seemed a likely place to tempt a young girl's appetite. The shop 
 was empty, and Madame Webern herself stood behind her counter. 
 
 The captain little knew how near he was to the object of his 
 search, when he forbore to question Madame Webern. 
 
 "She and the old Bobineau are dear friends," he said. "They 
 are always gossiping. I do not choose my landlady to hear that I 
 have been looking after a girl; it might make her less civil." 
 
 He went a little farther, looked curiously into the shops, but at 
 last he turned back to resume his walk, which his meeting with 
 Marie had interrupted. A twinkle came into his quiet eyes. " It 
 does not matter. I will keep a good lookout, and we shall meet 
 again. After all, I do not think that Bobineau would trouble her- 
 self about me." He gave a chuckle. " She is blind to the ways of 
 a first-floor lodger who pays his rent every week. That poor devil 
 on the top story, or even my tall friend the bank clerk, over my 
 head, might find her more clear-sighted." 
 
 He walked on smiling ; he did not see why he should not amuse 
 himself with a little adventure before he settled down quietly into 
 matrimony with the pleasant wife he had asked Madame Carouge to 
 find for him.
 
 AT THE BED GLOVE. 83 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MADAME BOBINEATJ. 
 
 Marie Peyrolles passed by the glove shop, and gave a timid 
 knock on the house door beside it. She was too much agitated 
 even to notice the plethoric-looking glove that seemed to point either 
 a warning or a welcoming finger towards her. Presently the door 
 opened, but the passage was so dark that she could only see dimly. 
 
 " Come in," a voice said in the darkness. "Is it you, Marie Pey- 
 rolles?" 
 
 "Yes," the girl answered; and then the door shut behind her, and 
 she followed the short figure she began to make out in the darkness 
 to the end of the narrow passage. 
 
 A door was opened on the left, and light streamed through. Then 
 Marie saw that she was following a small woman in a shabby gown 
 of brown stuff into a shallow oblong room surrounded by shelves, 
 on which stood paper boxes ranged closely one against another; on 
 two sides these shelves reached the ceiling, at the back a small win- 
 dow intervened, and opposite this was a glass partition between the 
 room and the shop. The panes of tiiis partition were frosted, ex- 
 cept those four which made the upper part of a door of communica- 
 tion; over these panes hung a green curtain, which at this moment 
 was tucked up on one side so as to command the entrance of the 
 shop. Marie's eyes had strayed from her conductor to take in these 
 details. Now, looking down at her, she met the piercing gaze of 
 two small, narrow, dark eyes. It seemed as if some one had drawn 
 the face belonging to these eyes on each side till it had taken a sort 
 of Chinese expression, which the paucity of eyelashes increased; the 
 face was certainly more broad than long, and the loss of teeth had 
 brought the nose and chin nearer together than nature had originally 
 meant them to be. Madame Bobineau's skin was thick and yellow, 
 and looked older than her hair did ; this was still brown, and was 
 strained in flat braids into a little round knot behind her head, the 
 knot being crowned by a black comb with five points, each sur- 
 mounted by a large black knob. She wore a black silk apron, and
 
 24 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 some folds of white muslia showed between her throat and the 
 top of her shabby gown. Marie thought as she looked that the 
 nuns' garb at St. Esprit was far more attractive than this dull Puri- 
 tan costume; she supposed that this must be her guardian. 
 
 Finding that she did not smile, but went on gravely with her scru- 
 tiny, the girl smiled timidly. "I hope I find you well, cousin. You 
 are Cousin Bobineau, are you not?" she said. 
 
 "Yes, child, I am always well," was the brisk answer. "Did 
 you find your way easily?" and raising herself on tiptoe, she tried to 
 kiss Marie's forehead. 
 
 The girl's constraint vanished ; she bent down, hugged the old 
 woman in her strong young arms, and kissed her lovingly on both 
 cheeks. 
 
 Madame Bobineau gave a little gasp when released, and looked 
 yet more attentively at her visitor. 
 
 " You look much older than I expected," she said, in a cold voice. 
 " How old are you?" 
 
 " I am just eighteen." 
 
 *' Can it be true? Berthold's child eighteen! How time runs on!" 
 
 "You knew my father, coiisin, did you not?" 
 
 " Yes — " Madame Bobineau checked herself. " Sit down, child. 
 I do not mean unkindly, Marie, but it is better to begin as we are to 
 go on. You can call me madame, or Madame Bobineau. I dare 
 say the sisters told you that you were coming here to help in my 
 shop." Marie bent her head* "Well, then, you are to be my as- 
 sistant, not my relative, remember — it sounds better in business. " She 
 gave an uneasy smile, and the girl thought she looked less friendly. 
 
 " I am afraid you will find me very ignorant," Marie said, timidly. 
 "I can embroider, but I cannot do much else; but I will try, ma- 
 dame," she added, earnestly. 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course," said the old woman. "Are you hungry? 
 Come this way, and eat something." 
 
 They went again into the dark passage, then down some steps and 
 across a bit of yard to a kitchen. Here the cloth was laid for two 
 on a round table ; a hideous old woman, with a throat that Marie 
 could not bear to look at, took the cover off a little soup tureen, and 
 also from a dish of veal and macaroni. 
 
 "Madame will find the tart on the shelf," she said, and she went 
 away. 
 
 Marie was very hungry after her journey. Madame Bobineau
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 25 
 
 took a little soup, and then a few mouthfuls of the ragodt; but as 
 she watched her visitor eat, her face grew longer and her eyes hard 
 and eager. 
 
 " She eats like a wolf. Will this happen every day?" she said to 
 herself. Then, after a pause of silent watching, "It shall not; 
 young animals never know when they have had enough. Already 
 she has eaten a plateful of soup and two helps of meat. It is too 
 much. Her services will not be worth much till she has been some 
 time with me ; she is sure to make mistakes with the customers. 
 She looks strong-willed; she must not be allowed to get her head. 
 Poor Bobineau used to say, ' Keep young girls under, and they will 
 never know that they have wills or fancies.' He always said luxury 
 was bad for tjie young. Ah! he was wise." 
 
 In old Bobiueau's lifetime his wife had groaned under his miserly 
 despotism ; but ever since he had freed her by his death she had 
 quoted his opinions, and tried to act them out, utterly unmindful of 
 her own suffering under his suspicion and niggard ways. This was 
 the first time that she had been able to put herself entirely in Bobi- 
 neau's place. She had had assistants, but these had been girls with 
 homes of their own; they came in the morning and went away at 
 night, and they brought their dinner with them. The old woman 
 who cleaned the house only came for half a day, and was quite in- 
 dependent of Madame Bobineau. 
 
 As she sat blinking her narrow eyes at the fresh young creature 
 who had brought a touch of summer into the sunless room, Madame 
 Bobineau groaned. 
 
 "I have been overgenerous to have her here," she thought. "I 
 believe from what those sisters wrote of the girl that they would 
 have kept her, fed her, and clothed her as long as she chose to stay. 
 Well, as I have been a fool once, I must be as wise as I can to make 
 up for it." She took a small box from her pocket, and from it a 
 huge pinch of snuff. 
 
 Just at this point Marie left off eating, and helped herself to a 
 draft of water from the carafe on the table. 
 
 "You do not seem hungry, cousin," she said. "You make me 
 ashamed to eat so much; but I was so very hungry." 
 
 Madame Bobineau smiled grimly. " There is a tart." She looked 
 at the shelf behind the door. She hoped Marie would refuse this 
 luxury; at any rate she would not tempt her through her eyes by 
 setting it before her.
 
 36 AT THE RED GLOVE, 
 
 "Thank j^ou," Marie rose up to get the tart. "You are very- 
 kind." 
 
 She could easily have finished the small dish of meat, and this 
 slice of flat plum tart did not look satisfying. She cut it in two, 
 and offered a portion to Madame Bobineau. 
 
 Her cousin shook her head and pressed her lips closely together. 
 "I have dined: soup and meat make a dinner fit for a countess," 
 she said, coldly, and she folded her shrivelled hands in patient resig- 
 nation at the time consumed over such a worthless employment as 
 eating. 
 
 " It is excellent," said Marie. She was accustomed to liberal fare, 
 and she helped herself to the remainder. 
 
 Madame Bobineau chafed inwardly, but she had learned to con- 
 trol any show of feeling. 
 
 " When you have quite finished," she said, with an emphasis that 
 made Marie redden as she swallowed the last mouthful of pastry, 
 "I will tell you what your duties are." 
 
 Marie jumped up briskly. " Shall I clear this away first ?" she 
 said. 
 
 "By no means ; leave it. I wish you to understand that j^ou 
 come into this kitchen only three times a day, for your meals. You 
 will spend the rest of the day in the shop or in my parlor." 
 
 "Where am I to sleep, madame?"the girl said. 
 
 Her dinner had given her courage, and her cheerful tone irritated 
 Madame Bobineau: she could not understand the fearlessness begot 
 by sympathetic treatment. 
 
 "I will show you, later," she said. "There is no room for you 
 here; my rooms are let to lodgers. I have taken a room for you 
 close by. Now come." 
 
 She led the way back to her parlor, and telling Marie to leave 
 her hat there, she went into the shop, and drew back the bolt on the 
 street door. She then began to teach Marie her duties. She showed 
 her the places of the gloves in their boxes below and behind the 
 counter, told her how to find the sizes and the prices, and also gave 
 her instructions relating to the embroideries and the other articles 
 she had for sale. 
 
 Marie listened attentively. So far, her work seemed easy enough, 
 and she began to think it would be amusing to see so many differ- 
 ent people in the course of a day, for Madame Bobineau told her 
 that sometimes she had as many as six customers at once in her
 
 AT THE BED GLOVE. 27 
 
 shop. Presently she took Marie's hand and held it in her skinny 
 fingers. 
 
 "Yes" — she looked carefully at the plump hand — "it is not a 
 bad hand; it will do; though sunburned, it has not done rough 
 work, I see. So much the better. To begin with, I will show you 
 how to put on your gloves." 
 
 Marie grew rosy to the wavy curls on her forehead. 
 
 "I have not any gloves," she said, in a mortified voice; " we never 
 wore them at the convent." 
 
 " That does not matter," Madame Bobineau said, coldly. "What 
 you have to learn is how to fit them on my customers." She gave 
 another look at Marie's hand, then reaching a box down from one of 
 the shelves, she took out a dull pair of slate-colored gloves, spotted 
 in two or three places with mildew. 
 
 "These will do," she said. "Now observe how I fit you." 
 
 Marie stood wondering while the glove was being fitted. It 
 seemed to her that Madame Bobineau was wasting so much time 
 and trouble ; and when she took from the counter a pretty little steel 
 hook, and buttoned every one of the four button-holes, she won- 
 dered still more, while her round firm wrist ached at the squeezing 
 to which it was subjected. 
 
 "There " — madame smiled with her satisfaction — " if it had been 
 made for your hand, that glove could not have fitted better. Yes, 
 yes " — she put her head on one side, nearly closing her narrow eyes 
 — " I know by looking, but you must be content to measure until 
 your eye has got practised. Now, watch me carefully measure — 
 so " — she took the fellow-glove from the counter and measured it 
 across Marie's knuckles — "and so," as she tried it from the thumb- 
 tip to the point of the forefinger. "Let me see you do that," she 
 said, gravely. 
 
 Marie began to laugh ; she thought such child's play as this could 
 not have an earnest meaning, but she measured the glove very ex- 
 actly, and, as Madame Bobineau saw, with a simple grace of man- 
 ner that was veiy attractive. 
 
 " There is nothing to laugh about." She gave a dry cough. " In 
 business you must smile and look pleasant, but you must never 
 laugh at a customer ; laughing would be quite out of place ; it might 
 give grave offence. I think I have told you all that is necessary. 
 You have only to select, measure, and then try on the gloves; if 
 
 they seem a little small, here are stretchers and here is powder;" she 
 
 2
 
 28 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 Stopped and illustrated her meaning Avith the help of one of the 
 spotted gloves. " You are to do exactly as you have seen me do- 
 exactly," she added, severely, "let the customers be whom they 
 -will; and above all, make no mistake in the price." 
 
 "I am to do to strangers all those things?" Marie said, slowly, 
 with a surprised stare ; and then the absurdity overcame her shyness, 
 and she laughed out merrily. 
 
 "Chut!" said Madame Bobineau. "I tell you I cannot allow 
 you to laugh in the shop. See, now. The best way is for you to 
 begin at once; go behind the counter and fit me on this glove, or 
 take off the one on your hand, it will go on mine easier." 
 
 Marie obeyed in silence ; but she found that glove-fittmg was 
 not so easy as it looked; the color flew into her face, and she panted 
 a good deal before she succeeded in drawing the glove over ma- 
 dame's bony knuckles. She was too rough here or too gentle there, 
 and the old woman said, "You must begin all over again." 
 
 The third attempt was pronounced better, and Marie hoped that 
 her probation was over, and that she should be allowed to get cool 
 again. 
 
 " Here comes a customer," said Madame Bobineau; and she seated 
 herself behind the opposite counter. 
 
 The shop door opened slowly, and in came a tall, gray-haired 
 woman, with a long, inquisitive nose, and lips that showed her 
 gums when she smiled. She was so simply dressed that Marie 
 thought she could not possibly care about the fit of her gloves. 
 
 "Good-day, neighbor," she said; and then she looked at Marie. 
 " I came to tell you that there is a sale of needle-work at Thun next 
 week. You might pick up bargains. " As she spoke she went close 
 up to Madame Bobineau. "You have got a new assistant?" she 
 said, in a low voice. 
 
 Madame Bobineau shook her head. "I have no money to buy 
 bargains with, Madame Riesen. I have to feed and clothe the fa- 
 therless." She turned up her eyes and drew down the corners of 
 her mouth. "Yes," slie went on, so that Marie could hear, "that 
 is the orphan daughter of my cousin Berthold Peyrolles, and I am 
 the only relative she has in the world." 
 
 " And she has come to help you," said Madame Riesen. " Ah! I 
 like to hear that. It will be pleasant for you to have something young 
 about you;" and Madame Riesen giggled, and put up her hand as if 
 she thought the movement would prevent Marie from hearing.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 29 
 
 "She will be a good show-card — ha! ha!— neighbor." And taking 
 away her hand, she giggled unrestrainedly. 
 
 Madame Bobineau looked stolid. "Come in and tell me about 
 these bargains;" and she led the way into her den. Then when the 
 door was shut, and she had tucked up the curtain over the little 
 glass window that looked into the shop, so that she might keep an 
 eye on Marie, she turned a wrathful face on her visitor. " For the 
 love of Heaven," she said, in a low voice, " be more careful. Is it 
 not enough that the child has a taking face and taking ways, but 
 you should come and put into her head what will, I fear, be a bur- 
 den to me? When I first saw her I was minded to send her back at 
 once to her convent; and then" — she turned up her eyes — " I felt 
 that I had promised to be as a mother to the orphan, and that I 
 could not go back from my word." 
 
 " Why should you?" Madame Riesen patted her on the shoulder, 
 but her mischievous smile showed her gums almost to the last tooth 
 in her head. " She is pleasant-looking and attractive, but she is not 
 beautiful — not, for instance, like our friend at the Beauregard — and 
 nothing can happen in the shop without your knowledge." She 
 gave a sly look at the tucked- up curtain. " You have only to keep 
 her out of the way of your lodgers — ah! that may be less easy." 
 
 Madame Bobineau looked yellower than ever. She always ranked 
 her chattering townswoman a fool, and to be instructed by her was 
 intolerable ; at the same time the glover prided herself on giving of- 
 fence to no one. She pressed her colorless lips still closer, and bent 
 her head with a re -assuring smile. 
 
 " There is no fear on that score. I have no room to give Marie 
 in this house. Monsieur Loigerot has both rooms on the first floor; 
 Monsieur Engemann has the second floor front; the room behind 
 that is not furnished, and one of the upper rooms I let to a stu- 
 dent." 
 
 "But you have a floor above?" Madame Riesen looked inquisi- 
 tive. 
 
 "That is not mine; it belongs, with the grenier over it, to my 
 landlord. My staircase only goes to the third story." 
 
 Madame Riesen clapped her hands. 
 
 "Well, to be sure!" — she gave a sigh of relief. "How often have 
 I wondered and asked Riesen to tell me what you could possibly do 
 with so large a house! and I knew that you had only three lodgers." 
 
 "How kind you are!" Madame Bobineau's smile was very grim.
 
 30 AT THE BED GLOVE. 
 
 "I did not flatter myself you thought so much about me. Well, 
 you know now, and you see that 1 have not a room for Marie, even 
 if it were fitting to introduce a girl into a house occupied by single 
 men. I have taken a lodging for her. " 
 
 "Where is that?" said Madame Riesen. 
 
 " Not far off." She spoke carelessly. There was no occasion to 
 let this inquisitive gossip know that she had got a miserable garret 
 room for Marie from a poor man in a back street. She had lent 
 this man money at a high rate of interest, and some of the loan re- 
 mained unpaid; it had seemed to her a golden opportunity to place 
 her protegee without the need of paying rent. 
 
 "That is thoughtful. Well, I hope all will go right, and that you 
 will be rewarded for your generosity." Madame Riesen felt that 
 she could ask no more questions. "If she does encourage young 
 men," she said, laughing, "you cannot find fault. I wager that 
 there will be a run on the Red Glove when it becomes known that 
 there is a handsome girl behind the counter. I congratulate you, 
 neighbor; but you'll have to keep an eye on the shop. Why" — 
 she gave a start as she looked at the clock on a little marble shelf 
 on one side of the room — "Mon Dieu! how late! I must say good- 
 day — ah! but perhaps your clock is fast" — she shook hands — "I 
 have heard Jules say that you regulate it yourself." 
 
 "It keeps the time of the big clock on the tower," said Madame 
 Bobineau — her face still wore the same mask of indifference — "and 
 I believe Madame Carouge's keeps the same time." 
 
 Madame Riesen was on her way to the door ; she stopped and 
 turned round. 
 
 "Ah! that beautiful Madame Carouge, is it not wonderful to see 
 her taste? Before she came to the place, I have heard Jules say, 
 the hotel was a desert, and now when you go in there are flowers, 
 tropical plants, a fountain — ah! one might fancy one's self in Paris." 
 
 "Your husband is very fond of Paris, I believe," said the old 
 woman, dryly. 
 
 Madame Riesen was quick at making discoveries, but she was not 
 sensitive. 
 
 "It gives me pleasure, " she said, "even to look at that beautiful 
 woman ; and only think, we are going to have her all to ourselves 
 on Sunday." 
 
 "What is going to happen?" said Madame Bobineau, taking a 
 pinch of snuff.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 31 
 
 " We have asked her to go with us to Thun. Jules says we shall 
 spend the afternoon on the lake. It will be heavenly. Jules has 
 asked some one else — Monsieur Engemann, I fancy." 
 
 "Ah?" 
 
 A checked inquiry shone for an instant in the narrow eyes of 
 Madame Bobineau. 
 
 "Yes " — her visitor gave an irritating little giggle — " are they not 
 a handsome pair? Made for one another, I say; but Jules thinks 
 Monsieur Rudolph too young, and he says our beautiful widow 
 might do better." 
 
 " Keep as she is, perhaps." 
 
 This time Madame Riesen did wince a little at the dry voice. 
 She nodded and went out. 
 
 The old woman glanced like a spider through her spy - hole ; 
 then she smoothed her apron with her withered hands. 
 
 " Chattering fool," she said. " You came to pick up my secrets, 
 but you leave behind more than you take away." Madame Bobi- 
 neau took a long pinch of snuff, and nodded her head. " I had not 
 thought it had gone so far between the widow and my lodger." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT THE HOTEL BEATJEEGAKD. 
 
 Madame Carouge had been sitting still, with an expectant look 
 on her face, for more than half an hour. Occasionally her eyes had 
 turned from the clock on the mantel-shelf to the large staircase. She 
 could see this between the fronds of palms and ferns that almost hid 
 the glass front of her room, and gave a pleasant aspect to the inner 
 hall of the Hotel Beauregard. 
 
 Madame Carouge's eyes were very handsome eyes, large and dark, 
 with drooping dark lashes ; the broad dark eyebrows might have 
 been thought heavy on any one else — on this ripe nectarine-hued skin 
 they were perfect; but, indeed, when one had gazed fully at Madame 
 Carouge's faultless figure and superb face, one only thought of her 
 eyes and of her lovely mouth, its upper lip like the crumpled leaf of 
 a damask rose. Perhaps the admiration she invariably created 
 could hardly stay to dwell on detail. One brought away from her 
 a vision of jewel -like brilliance and velvet softness. She moved
 
 33 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 with perfect grace, but looked perhaps a little proud ; yet in a wom- 
 an whose head was so divinely placed, and who walked as if the 
 world belonged to her, one expected a little extra dignity. And 
 then the mystery in which she had lived (for Monsieur Carouge, till 
 he died, had kept her in his country cottage beyond the Enge) had 
 doubtless increased the reserve that now characterized her. Ca- 
 rouge had been dead more than a year, and yet the beautiful widow 
 was little known in Berne. She kept herself apart, and had little in- 
 tercourse with her customers ; they did their business with the head 
 waiter, Moritz, the man with sunken cheeks and a hectic color, who 
 presided over the bureau on the right of the door as you entered. 
 
 Madame Carouge's rt)om was farther on, on the same side, and 
 communicating by a door with the bureau aforesaid, but it had its 
 special entrance round the corner, so as to face both the staircase 
 leading to the salle a manger up-stairs, and the inner hall, which 
 looked very pleasant on this warm evening, with its tiny fountain 
 screened by the surrounding foliage. 
 
 A slight frown drew the heavy eyebrows together, and Madame 
 Carouge's beautiful bosom rose and fell with impatience. Next mo- 
 ment she smiled, and her smile was what the clockmaker. Monsieur 
 Riesen, in the corn market, called "adorable;" then one saw how 
 sweet her eyes were, and how exquisite the curves of her perfect 
 lips. She rose up and shook out the folds of her trailing black silk 
 gown as she moved like a queen to a bird-cage hanging against the 
 glass front of the little room. 
 
 " Cheri!" she said, and placing a bit of sugar between her full red 
 lips, she offered it to the little golden bird in the cage. As she bent 
 her head you saw how round and firm was her throat in the ruff of 
 black lace that set off its rich brown tint. You felt instinctively 
 how warm a tide flowed beneath this golden brown skin, and just 
 now, as a tread sounded on the stairs, it revealed itself in the flush 
 on her cheek and the added glow in her dark eyes. 
 
 Cheri took the sugar, but his mistress's lips lingered beside the 
 wires. Could she be trying to hide the blush which she felt on her 
 cheeks? 
 
 She listened. The steps came down to the mat at the foot of the 
 stairs. In the pause that followed, her heart throbbed so strongly 
 that instinctively, and as it were to calm it, she put one hand on her 
 bosom — not a small hand, but one proportioned to her tall, well-de- 
 veloped figure, with round, long, tapering fingers, a lovely dimple
 
 SHE PUT ONE HAND ON HER BOSOM.
 
 AT THE BED GLOYE. 35 
 
 at the root of each. As the fellow-hand hung down beside her it 
 showed a rosy cushioned palm that would have gladdened the eyes 
 of a hand -reader. This hand contracted nervously as the steps 
 moved on, not down the passage to the street, but leftward to her 
 room. And now she could see between the palm leaves the tall fig- 
 ure of Monsieur Rudolf Engemann. In another moment he was at 
 her door, which stood open ; but he did not come in. 
 
 "Good-evening, madame," he said. "What delightful weather 
 —is it not?" 
 
 The smile of Madame Carouge was beautiful at that moment. 
 She looked radiant with happiness; and as she fixed her eyes on the 
 young man, he thought he had never seen so handsome a woman. 
 
 " Will you not come in?" she said. 
 
 The tall, broad-shouldered young Swiss bent his fair head, and 
 came into the pretty little room. 
 
 He was not a stranger there, for he walked up at once to the bird- 
 cage hanging in a group of ferns and flowers. 
 
 "How are you, my friend Cheri, eh?" he said. 
 
 The bird put his head on one side and looked inquisitively out of 
 his sharp black eyes at the friendly blue ones bent on him, 
 
 " Aha, my friend," said Monsieur Rudolf, "I often hear you as I 
 go up-stairs; you let us all know that you can sing." 
 
 All this while madame's eyes had been fixed on him, and now as 
 he suddenly looked up she did not turn away. "Can you really 
 hear him?" she smiled up at her tall visitor. "I have to give you a 
 message, monsieur," she said. 
 
 He bent his head; he wondered, while he listened to her pleasant 
 voice, mellow as her complexion, if any woman ever stood so grace- 
 fully before. Her exquisite figure, spite of its rich womanly devel- 
 opment, was full of the long curving lines that so rejoice an artist. 
 But then everything was harmonious in Madame Carouge, from the 
 soft grace of her movements to the downward sweep of her long 
 eyelashes, as she began to speak. 
 
 "Monsieur Ricsen, our good neighbor — I think you know Mon- 
 sieur Riesen " (the young Swiss nodded) — " has asked me to go with 
 him and his wife to spend a Sunday at Thun. We are, I believe, to 
 spend most of our time on the lake. He says the boat will hold 
 four. Will you condescend to be of the party?" She raised her 
 eyes, and as she met Monsieur Rudolf's admiring gaze she blushed 
 ever so little.
 
 36 AT THE EED GLOVE. 
 
 " Thank you so very much !" he said, impulsively. "I know I 
 owe this invitation to your kindness." 
 
 Madame Carouge looked unmoved. "Ah, no, monsieur," she 
 smiled ; "I deserve no more thanks than the postman who brings 
 you a letter. I have only given you a message from Monsieur Riesen. 
 He will be so pleased if I may say that you accept for next Sunday." 
 
 "I have much pleasure in accepting such a kind offer," he said; 
 and then he saw Moritz, the waiter, at the door, and there seemed 
 no excuse for lingering. "Au revoir, madame." He bowed, and 
 was going. 
 
 "You can come to me presently," Madame Carouge said to Mo- 
 ritz. Then to Engemann: " "We have not fixed any time, monsieur; 
 that, 1 believe, Monsieur Riesen will decide. I think we are to start 
 soon after noon, but whenever we go, Monsieur and Madame Riesen 
 are to breakfast with me, and if you will do me that honor—" 
 
 She paused ; her timid, uncertain manner made a curious contrast 
 with her attitude, full of dignity and repose. 
 
 Engemann bowed low. "You are very kind," he said. "It will 
 give me much pleasure to join you. I suppose Thun is an old story 
 to you." 
 
 "I have been there"— she looked grave — "but I have not been 
 on the lake. I have never in my life had such a pleasure." 
 
 It seemed to Monsieiu- Engemann, as he watched her animated 
 face, that something very like a tear glistened in her eyes. 
 
 "Your presence," he said, in a low voice, "will give the day a 
 charm it could not otherwise possess." A sudden kindling in her 
 eyes made him remembQr that Moritz was waiting to see his mis- 
 tress. "I must not detain you," he said. 
 
 The change in his tone seemed to rouse Madame Carouge out of 
 a dream. She had leaned forward a little, while her eyes and her 
 slightly parted lips had been drinking in the expression that had 
 gone with his words. Now she stood erect, and her bow, as she 
 said "Good-evening," might have been addressed to any ordinary 
 visitor. Monsieur Engemann pushed past the bower of leaves that 
 circled the fountain, and then along the passage that led to the 
 entrance. 
 
 Here he saw Moritz, the waiter, standing with his head bent on 
 one side, listening with deep attention and hardly concealed amuse- 
 ment. The short, burly figure of Captain Loigerot stood on the 
 mat, talking with much emphasis.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 37 
 
 "You must really look to it, Moritz," the captain was saying. 
 " When I wish to give a friend a bottle of Liebfrauen Milch, I mean 
 to have it ; it will not do to give me Diedesheimer, and to charge 
 me twice its value." 
 
 "Moritz," said Monsieur Engemann, "Madame Carouge is wait- 
 ing for you. " 
 
 The waiter bowed his thanks to the right, and his excuses to the 
 left. "Pardon me, monsieur," he said; "it shall be seen to," and 
 he hurried back to the glass fronted parlor. 
 
 Captain Loigerot's voice had been decided, and his gesture ear- 
 nest; but when Engemann looked at his fleshy, high-colored face he 
 saw a smile on it of the most placid kind. This expression broad- 
 ened into actual pleasure at the sight of Rudolf Engemann. 
 
 "Let us walk home together," he said, "if you are going that 
 way; if not, I will go yours." 
 
 "I am going home," Rudolf said, but he did not seem delighted 
 at the prospect of a companion. Just then he wanted solitude, in 
 which he could think of Madame Carouge's eyes, and of all that 
 they told him. 
 
 All? As he walked on in silence by the side of his short, round- 
 faced companion, who rolled along the street like a plaster manda- 
 rin. Monsieur Engemann began to feel that there was something he 
 did not understand in the glances of the beautiful widow — beautiful 
 was a poor word for her seductive charm. It seemed to him, too, 
 that he had not thanked her nearly enough for her goodness — well, 
 be would mend that fault to-morrow. But it was wonderful that 
 such a woman could care for his friendship. He felt unusual im- 
 patience to see her again. 
 
 " — Eh, don't you think so, my friend?" the captain was say- 
 ing. 
 
 "I beg your pardon." 
 
 Engemann looked round ; he felt as if he had waked up from a 
 
 glowing dream. On each side of the street were tall houses, arcaded 
 
 along the lower story, and he and the captain were just passing the 
 
 quaint Clock Tower, which, with its pointed red-tiled cap and little 
 
 magical figures, seemed like an old necromancer presiding over the 
 
 destiny of the city. Eight o'clock was just going to strike, and a 
 
 group of people stood open-mouthed, watching to see the little bears 
 
 come out, and the toy Duke of Zahringen strike the hour. 
 
 The ex-captain's eyes twinkled. 
 
 2*
 
 38 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 "I was saying liow handsome our hostess is. You are a lucky 
 young fellow, Engemann, if I may say so." 
 
 Kudolf laughed uneasily. " You can say what you please, my 
 good friend. I have been boarding at the Beauregard these three 
 months past; Madame Carouge is not an acquaintance of yester- 
 day." 
 
 Again the stout man's eyes twinkled, and he twirled his mustache 
 as if he thought by that means to hide a smile. 
 
 " What a thing it is to be young"— he broke into a hearty laugh 
 — "and " — he recovered himself, and looked at Rudolf from head 
 to foot — "and other things. I have been en pension at the hotel 
 for more than six months, I was a friend of our fair hostess's hus- 
 band, and yet she rarely gives me a crumb of notice, or a chance of 
 looking at her— eh, eh!"— here he winked, and Rudolf felt irritable 
 again. " I never receive a message during dinner to say that ma- 
 dame wishes to see me in her bureau as soon as I have dined. Ah! 
 you are indeed a lucky fellow." 
 For a minute or two Rudolf looked annoyed ; then he too laughed. 
 " You do me much honor, captain. Madame Carouge had a mes- 
 sage for me from Monsieur Riesen, the clockmaker. He is always 
 telling me I want change, and he offers me a place in his boat the 
 next time he goes to Thun — that is all." 
 
 "All?" the captain laughed till he actually rolled from one side 
 of the pavement to the other ; then he took out a huge red silk 
 handkerchief and wiped his eyes. "I ask pardon," he said. "I 
 had thought you were— what shall I say?— too young?— in short, 
 that you might stand in the way of your own good-fortune by not 
 being aware of your advantages. I see I was mistaken." He nod- 
 ded with a very satisfied look, and walked on in silence. 
 
 Engemann felt nettled, but he was puzzled how to answer. He 
 could not deny his admiration for Madame Carouge, and yet, if he 
 confessed it, there was no knowing what use the captain might make 
 of his avowal Perhaps he had been too shy, and yet he did not 
 feel that he was to blame; he shrank from being hurried into words 
 which might pledge him to anything definite. 
 
 They had been walking for the last few minutes in the middle of 
 the street, for it had grown dark under the arcades, except where a 
 shop was brightly lighted ; now they passed a gray-green fountain. 
 On it was the colored figure of a knight with his lance, standing on, 
 a fluted column.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 39 
 
 Suddenly the captain broke out with: "I saw such a pretty girl — 
 a stranger in Berne — near the station this morning !" 
 
 "Ah," said Engemann, without interest. He had not much opin- 
 ion of the captain's taste in beauty. 
 
 Loigerot had decided not to tell Engemann, or any of the Ber- 
 nese young fellows who frequented the Beauregard, of his advent- 
 ure with the girl ; but after what he had seen to-day, with regard 
 to Madame Carouge, he felt there could be no risk in telling Rudolf. 
 There were two things absolutely necessary to Monsieur Loigerot : 
 he must have a companion; and if he had anything to tell, he must 
 have a confidant. 
 
 They were now close to the Stork Fountain, behind which, in the 
 gloom cast by the arcade, hung the huge red glove over Madame 
 Bobineau's shop. The glove seemed to glower portentously in the 
 dim light. 
 
 One of the shop -windows was already cleared; the other still 
 showed embroidered handkerchiefs, lace ties, and other coUfieliets. 
 As the two men stopped opposite, the shop door opened, and a 
 couple of women came out into the gloom. One of them — unmis- 
 takably Madame Bobineau— closed the door behind her, and the 
 captain and his companion stared at the girl left standing under 
 the arcade. She looked a tall, well-made young woman ; her face 
 could not be distinguished. In an instant the old glover joined her, 
 and they passed together out of sight. 
 
 " Who the devil has old Bobineau got with her?" said Loigerot. 
 "I could make out she is young, with a good face and figure." 
 
 Engemann laughed. ' ' Come, come, my friend, you are drawing 
 on fancy. I saw a passable figure. I could make out nothing else." 
 
 The captain gave his companion a dig in the ribs. 
 
 "That for your making out! Would you pit a civilian's eyes 
 against a soldier's where a woman is concerned? I tell you that is 
 a handsome girl, and — " He checked himself, for Engemann, sur- 
 prised by his excitement, was looking at him with an amused smile. 
 "Never mind," he said, quickly; "I will ask old Bobineau all about 
 it when she comes back. " 
 
 "Good-night," said the younger man. "I have work to do to- 
 night." 
 
 He nodded, and going to the private door of the Red Glove he 
 let himself in.
 
 40 AT THE EED GLOVE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CAPTAm LOIGEROT INDULGES HIS CURIOSITY. 
 
 Captain Loigerot — he clung to his title— lit a fresh cigar ; and 
 then he walked resolutely up and down between the corner house 
 and the first break which came among the shops beneath the arches. 
 Every now and then on the stone buttresses which divided one 
 house from the other, and helped to support the arcade, a name was 
 painted in large black letters. On the stone pier beside the glover's 
 appeared the inscription : "La Veuve Bobineau. Gants de Paris 
 et de Neufchatel, Broderies, etc. ;" and beneath was painted a huge 
 red hand, nearly as large as that which hung in front of the shop. 
 
 "Gloves!" The captain looked meditatively at his bronzed 
 hands. ' ' It makes little difference to me whether the shop-girl is 
 pretty or ugly; but still it would be refreshing to know that there 
 was something younger in the house than the shrivelled old Bo- 
 bineau and the hideous witch she employs. This girl may be a 
 granddaughter. " 
 
 He took another turn, and reflected that the last time Lenoir, the 
 hairdresser, had shaved him, he had said that Madame Bobineau 
 had never had a child. Some one else had told the captain that 
 Bobineau himself was a fiction ; but Lenoir denied this ; he and 
 Madame Bobineau had both come from Bale, and he had seen Bo- 
 bineau in his youth. The glover had been a miser, and it was to 
 free herself from his grasping relatives that Madame Bobineau had 
 followed Lenoir's advice when he wrote from Berne and told her 
 of a good business for sale in the Spitalgasse. 
 
 "But I certainly heard that the old woman was wanting help in 
 the shop," Loigerot said to himself. "She shall tell me all about 
 it, and whether the girl came this forenoon." 
 
 It has been said that the ex-captain was forty -five. When he first 
 came to Berne he was charmed with his well-furnished first floor at 
 the sign of the Red Glove, and with the way in which his meals 
 were served at the Hotel Beauregard, but of late he had found life 
 rather dull. He had been a good soldier, and he liked active service;
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 41 
 
 but he had risen from the ranks; he was uncultivated, and he shrank 
 from society. It was this awkwardness that had kept him so long 
 a distant admirer of his beautiful hostess; she had seemed to him 
 a superior being. Now he began to blame himself for this reticence. 
 "But where would have been the use, my friend Achille?" he said. 
 " You are not blind, and you are susceptible; you would only have 
 destroyed your peace : moths that fly too near a light end by singe- 
 ing more than their wings ; and the light burns on and cheers some 
 one else— not a whit the worse for the poor moth it has shrivelled 
 out of life. No, the widow would never have looked at me; but if 
 I were Rudolf Engemann I would go in and win." 
 
 He snapped his fingers as he reached for the third time the turn- 
 ing down which Madame Bobineau and her protegee had disap- 
 peared. 
 
 "If I were a young man," he said again, "I could not shilly- 
 shally as Engemann does. I have not seen them together lately, 
 but I feel confident he has only got to propose for the widow and 
 she will accept him. She is constantly sending him a message 
 about something or other, and then I meet him coming out of that 
 parlor of hers looking as pleased as if he had been made a general ; 
 if he is spoken to, he has to wake up out of a dream, as he did just 
 now. Ma foi," said the honest captain, "have I not gone through 
 it over and over again in my time with the young sub-lieutenants? 
 — poor young fools, as if the women are not dying to listen to them, 
 when they are young and handsome. Ah! if the young only knew!" 
 
 He sighed. Presently turning round on his heel, he found him- 
 self face to face with his landlady. 
 
 Madame Bobineau gave an obsequious courtesy, and the captain 
 bowed as if she were Madame Carouge herself. Though he had no 
 advantages in the way of breeding. Monsieur Loigerot had a natural 
 deference for women, even when they were old. 
 
 "You are out late, madame," he said. 
 
 "Yes, yes, monsieur, it is late." She was hurrying on; but he 
 placed himself beside her, and suited his pace to hers. 
 
 "You have had an arrival to-day." The captain spoke boldly; 
 shy as he was with women, he was not afraid of old Bobineau in 
 the gloom of the arcade. 
 
 She started with surprise, but then she remembered gossiping 
 Madame Riesen, and cursed her indiscretion. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur."
 
 43 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 "The j'oung lady is ycur niece, perhaps. Ah! I congratulate 
 you, madame, on so charming a relative. It was perhaps she whom 
 I had the honor of directing to your house this morning?" 
 
 Madame Bobineau hesitated. She intended Marie to be consid- 
 ered as her shop-girl; but as she felt sure that the captain would 
 speak of his meeting with the girl to others, it might save trouble 
 in some ways if she let him know that Marie belonged to her. 
 
 "Monsieur is very kind," she said, "but I think he mistakes. 
 My cousin is not a young lady— only a child, fresh from her convent." 
 
 "Exactly," said the captain; "she is as dainty as a blossom of 
 edelweiss. You will have to take great care of her, madame, in 
 this town, and in this bustling time of year; those tourists are insuf- 
 ferable sometimes in their behavior." 
 
 " Yes, yes, monsieur; I will be careful." 
 
 " You see, you have two young men in the house," Loigerot went 
 on, pausing between his words. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur; but my cousin will only be in the shop, not in 
 the house, and she will have plenty to do;='She will not have time to 
 think of young men." 
 
 "For that matter" — the captain was talking to himself as much 
 as to Madame Bobineau — "so far as regards Monsieur Engemann 
 (this is between ourselves, madame), I think you will soon have to 
 seek a new inmate for your .second floor." 
 
 He winked, but though Madame Bobineau could not see in the 
 darkness, she was sharp enough to understand, and she was troubled. 
 This was the second warning that had fallen on her ears to-day, and 
 the change suggested meant to her more than the loss of a quiet, 
 regular lodger. 
 
 Would Madame Carouge, who, in her desolate, widowed state, had 
 shown herself so full of sympathy for other widows— would she, 
 Bobineau asked herself, be as generous when she became a remar- 
 ried woman? 
 
 The shrewd old glover guessed that a large part of the beautiful 
 landlady's kindness to her arose from her connection with Rudolf 
 Engemann ; he often brought her a note or a message from Madame 
 Carouge, and sometimes was the bearer of a reply. Madame Bobi- 
 neau had no appetite for the viands she had set before Marie, but 
 she could eat greedily, for all that, in private, and many a dainty 
 dish was smuggled home when she called, by madarae's request, at 
 the hotel, on her way from mass. Already she felt robbed in the
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 43 
 
 prospect of such a marriage, and yet she was bound not to thwart 
 it, lest Madame Carouge should find her out. 
 
 She looked stolid as she answered: "Monsieur Engemann has 
 said nothing to me, and he would surely give me notice of his inten- 
 tions if he meant to leave me. " 
 
 "Ah, my good friend," the captain said, gayly, "you forget the 
 old song. " He began to whistle : 
 
 " Oh, c'est I'amour, I'amour, I'amour 1" 
 
 " So!" she exclaimed. " Does Monsieur Engemann think of mar- 
 rying? Is that your meaning, monsieur?" 
 
 They had reached the Red Glove, and she was watching her op- 
 portunity to slip away. 
 
 But Loigerot put his hand on her arm. "You forget," he said: 
 "it is not so long ago that you agreed with me that Engemann and 
 our fair widow would make a fine couple." 
 
 "But then," she said, sweetly, " I could have said that of monsieur 
 himself in regard to Madame Carouge." 
 
 Loigerot reddened, and poised himself first on one foot, then on the 
 other. He was not much accustomed to personal compliments, and 
 they excited him. 
 
 "Well," he said, "the truth is that our friend Engemann is in 
 love with the beauty, and I fancy she favors him." 
 
 "Mon Dieu!" — Madame Bobineau spoke impulsively, and turned 
 up her ej'es — she always did this before uttering a virtuous senti- 
 ment; the action seemed to help out her words — "can it be possible 
 that BO honorable a gentleman, who is yet but a clerk in the bank, 
 can think of offering himself to a woman of fortune, for, monsieur, 
 by your leave, it is, I fancy, not only the beauty of Madame Carouge 
 that makes marriage with her desirable, is it?" 
 
 This shaft told ; the captain stood open - mouthed, his feet wide 
 apart, plunged in a deep reverie. 
 
 "Good-night, monsieur;" and Bobineau disappeared through her 
 door-way. 
 
 "Great heavens!" — the captain slapped his thigh — "Achille 
 Loigerot, you have indeed been a blind mole. An old toothless 
 woman has discerned what has been for so long a puzzle to you ! 
 And Bobineau is right. There is the key to the mystery; Engemann 
 is too proud to propose to a rich woman, and the pair will go on 
 pining for one another. Well, I am not handsome or clever, perhaps,
 
 44 AT TUE RED GLOVE. 
 
 but" — he put his finger to his nose — "I may be able to help these 
 lovers. Ha! ha!— a hint to one or the other may smooth matters. 
 I like to see people happy." 
 
 He took his cigar from his lips to enjoy a laugh, and then walked 
 on to the point at the corner of the Spitalgasse where he had met 
 Marie. He sighed, and turning back, went home, and to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MARIE'S LODGING. 
 
 Marie groped her way up the narrow, uneven staircase of her 
 lodging. In front of her was the man who had opened the door, 
 and she knew that the woman who had stood beside him was behind 
 her. She felt like a captive between these two dirty jailers, who, in 
 the dim light, had looked to her like some of the beggars who came 
 to ask alms at the gate of her convent home. She could not see 
 anything as she went up-stairs except a glimpse of the man's dirty 
 neck showing above a greasy brown coat ; the dark walls absorbed 
 all the light of the little hand-lamp that he carried. The smell of 
 the oil was intolerable. 
 
 "Take care, mademoiselle," a hoarse voice said behind her; "this 
 railing is broken away." 
 
 Marie had just reached the landing, and she saw, as the man turned 
 to open a door, that there was nothing to prevent any one from slip- 
 ping down-stairs from the narrow ledge outside the room into which 
 he had carried his unsavory lamp. She felt so anxious to get rid of 
 this that, though she saw a bare, comfortless chamber, she did not 
 notice anything in detail, so intent was she in feeling in the basket 
 she carried for the candle and matches provided by Madame Bobi- 
 neau. She found them, and hastily struck a light. 
 
 "I will not take your lamp, thank you," she said to the man. 
 "Good-night." The door closed on her squalid hosts, and then, as 
 the candle flickered into stronger light, Marie looked round her. 
 The flame led her eyes to a black zigzag line above it — a crack in 
 the wall, which a little way higher yawned into a hole. The wall 
 was so black and loathsome in aspect that it seemed to the girl as if 
 some fever or disease lurked there, and that the discolored blisters 
 she saw upon it were the outbreak of this.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 45 
 
 She snatched up the candle, and looked all round. Madame Bo- 
 bineau had said that she had sent bed-coverings, and Marie saw that 
 these lay in a corner near the dingy bed. There was a rickety table, 
 with a jug and basin, and over it was a little cracked mirror in a 
 tarnished frame, and close to her was a wooden chair. Setting 
 down the candle, she sank into the chair in a sudden burst of tears. 
 
 "It is cruel, wicked, to send me to a place like this. Oh, what 
 shall I do?" Then pulling her skirt angrily away from the dirty 
 floor, she sobbed out her grief and indignation. "What shall I do? 
 — oh, what shall I do?" For the first time in her life, there was no 
 one to whom Marie could go for comfort. 
 
 Since her mother's death she had lived in long whitewashed rooms 
 with bare floors, and certainly the plainest of needful furnishings ; 
 she had never known luxury at the convent of St. Esprit in her sur- 
 roundings; but in spite of the plainness and of the frugal fare, the 
 cleanliness and order of the place had been dainty, and Marie had 
 there enjoyed the greatest of luxuries — love. 
 
 The other girls brought up among these kind, simple sisters had 
 homes to go to in holiday time, but Marie Peyrolles had come to the 
 convent a bright orphan child of twelve years old, and had stayed 
 there ever since her first arrival. 
 
 Her godmother had loved Marie's mother, and had promised her, 
 when she died, to take care of her child ; but this benevolent woman 
 was soon taken away from her charge — not, however, before she had 
 bequeathed a sum of money to the convent to provide for her little 
 Marie till she was sixteen years old. Then the girl was either to 
 become a sister or to earn a living by teaching. 
 
 But Marie at sixteen was still so very childish, and the sisters 
 loved her so dearly, that they had no desire to give her up. In holi- 
 day time she was their pet; her very sauciness gave a charming 
 variety to the quiet, uniform life they led; but she expressed no wish 
 to adopt their life. 
 
 At eighteen the girl grew restless and dissatisfied. She did not 
 wish to become a sister, and, indeed, not one of the gentle community 
 sought to point out such a life for her; but when she saw how many 
 claims the convent had to meet, and how in the long snowy winters, 
 poor as the sisters were, they fed and clothed their poorer neighbors, 
 she revolted against her idle life, and one day she begged the Su- 
 perior to write to her father's old cousin. 
 
 " You know, Mother," she said, " I could never gain my living by
 
 43 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 teaching. Sister Josepha lias given me up. She says the children 
 will not mind me; they only laugh. But I am strong, and I can 
 work. I need not be the burden to my cousin that I am to you, 
 though you will not tell me so. " 
 
 At first the Superior refused to listen to her, and Marie had to 
 withdraw her petition ; but she confided her wishes to the sisters, 
 and little by little a feeling grew up in the convent that Marie Pey- 
 rolles wanted to leave it. 
 
 Perhaps she did. She loved her kind friends as dearly as ever, 
 but something— a vague restlessness that as yet took no shape — be- 
 gan to trouble the young girl's dreams at night and her waking 
 thoughts by day. 
 
 When she roused from these she found she had been wondering 
 about Berne, and about the glover's shop in the Spitalgasse, and 
 about the unknown cousin who sent her every New-year's Day a 
 box of sweetmeats. 
 
 And then the next time she asked to go away, the Superior told 
 her that she had written to Madame Bobineau, and was expecting a 
 reply to her letter. 
 
 For an instant a chill fell on Marie ; but there followed such a 
 thronging in of fluttering hopes and shy expectation that she felt 
 scarcely able to eat or drink, or to fix her attention on anything, 
 till one morning she was summoned to the Superior's room to hear 
 her fate. 
 
 This had happened so few days ago that it seemed like a dream. 
 Only out of the excited feelings which made this episode seem so 
 unreal there stood out in her memory the Superior's last words — a 
 little sermon Marie had then called it, tender wisdom she now felt it 
 — and her tears began to flow again as she repeated the words to 
 herself. 
 
 "We grieve to lose you, my child, because we love you. I hope 
 you will meet with love in your new home ; but, Marie, you must 
 try to love those with whom you have to live; it is not always easy, 
 for love, to be perfect, demands all the powers of the soul." Marie 
 remembered that she had looked up questiouingly at this, and the 
 Mother had added," Yes, my child, love to God does not interfere 
 with, though it purifies and elevates, earthly love, to which it sets a 
 copy. As you shrink from all that would pain those you love, and 
 strive by word, look, and action to give happiness to another, you 
 will be heljied to grow careful about your faults from love. You
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 47 
 
 must love something, Marie, and love of those we live with keeps 
 the door of our hearts shut against the love of money and the love 
 of self." 
 
 "It sounds beautiful," poor Marie sobbed. " It is just like them 
 all. How could one help loving them? And oh, how can I love 
 Madame Bobiueau when she puts me in a place like this?" she said, 
 with an angry shiver of disgust, as she looked at the dirty floor. 
 "I cannot love her, and I will not," she went on; "she ought to 
 lodge me in her own house. The Mother could not know that I 
 was going to be lodged in a dirty garret, or she would not have sent 
 me. I have a great mind to go back to Lucerne at once. Ah! if 
 I had not been a monster of ingratitude, I should never have left 
 St. Esprit." 
 
 And then she cried again bitterly. It seemed to her that she was 
 justly punished. If she had never asked to leave, the sisters would 
 never have sent her away, and she might have worked harder for 
 them if she had tried. It was her own fault: she had wanted to see 
 what the outside world was like; and she had got her wish. If 
 people were all like Madame Bobineau, then, indeed, the convent 
 was the happiest place. 
 
 It had grown dark while she sat crying, and at last, worn out and 
 unhappy, Marie determined to go to bed. Perhaps life would look 
 less gloomy next morning. 
 
 When she lay down it seemed impossible to believe that she had 
 only left the convent that morning. She did not go to sleep at 
 once. All her little escapades and follies rose up before her, and 
 in the darkness took exaggerated importance. No wonder, she said 
 to herself, that the sisters were all glad to be rid of such a tiresome, 
 teasing girl ! Oh, how could she have so tormented them ! Her 
 cheeks grew hot with shame, and it began to be evident to her that 
 only their goodness had tolerated her ; in their hearts they must 
 have been glad at her departure. 
 
 She could not sleep, her heart felt so heavy. She turned restless- 
 ly, and cooled her hot cheek on the pillow. The movement let 
 light in upon her trouble. The sisters had not seemed glad to let 
 her go; they had said they were sorry, and they always spoke the 
 truth. Then she let her thoughts dwell on the leave-taking : the 
 tender kisses, the Mother's pretty gift — a daintily furnished work- 
 basket — the kind, loving looks of all, except perhaps Sister Monique. 
 . . .And soon the tired child fell asleep.
 
 48 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A MORNING WALK. 
 
 Morning sunshine came streaming into the dirty little room, 
 showing other horrid cracks in the soiled wall, and also showing 
 that the window which admitted this warm brilliance had a suffi- 
 cient blind of cobwebs. 
 
 Soon the brightness travelled across Marie's coverlet, and reached 
 the dark eyelashes which almost touched her flushed cheeks; they 
 clung together, parted into clusters, telling tales of last night's tears. 
 
 Sleeping there, one soft cheek resting in her pink palm, Marie 
 looked like a peaceful child ; care had left no trace on her fair, soft 
 skin. But the sunshine reached her eyes, and she opened them ; a 
 gaze of unrecognizing wonder showed in their gray depths as she 
 looked widely round her. 
 
 She started up, and then, with a grimace at the dirty floor, she 
 soon dressed herself. She heard the clock strike five ; opening her 
 door, she heard sounds in the house that told her some one was 
 awake. While dressing she had decided to ask the woman of the 
 house to clean her room, and she went down-stairs to find her. 
 
 "Come in," a voice called out from a den under the stairs, and 
 then the woman's miserable face showed — a pale patch in the 
 gloom. 
 
 Marie thought she looked much dirtier than she had looked last 
 night. It seemed to the girl that cleanliness could not be expected 
 from her hostess. She would not know how to practise it. The 
 girl stood thinking. Presently she said: " Can I have a pail and 
 some water? You will perhaps show me where to go to draw wa- 
 ter?" 
 
 " Yes." The woman brought her a pail, a cleaner one than Marie 
 expected, and then opening the house door, she showed the girl a 
 small fountain against the high wall opposite. Marie found herself 
 in a paved court with this wall in front of the houses ; at one end 
 was a very narrow passage between the walls, at the other the steep 
 flight of steps she had come down last night.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 49 
 
 Marie felt amused. The fresh morning air revived her spirits. 
 Some girls in picturesque Bernese costumes were filling their pitch- 
 ers and chatting merrily by the fountain. 
 
 They nodded to her and said good-morning; then, as she vrent back 
 slowly to the house, with her full pail, they wondered who she was. 
 
 Marie was doubtful whether she should be able to clean her floor. 
 " There's nothing like trying," she said, laughing to herself. 
 
 A.t the convent she had been taught to cook and to sew and to 
 embroider, but she had not been allowed to do house -work, even 
 when she grew too old for school lessons. There was no need, the 
 kind sisters had said, and it would spoil her hands for embroidery. 
 She felt like a child with a new toy as she tucked up her skirts and 
 bared her white, well-shaped arms. She had only a bit of flannel 
 to scrub with and a sponge. It was not easy work. She had to go 
 over the floor three times before she could clear away the dirt. Her 
 face was very red and hot, and her loosened hair fell over her eyes, 
 before she had finished. 
 
 She had used up the bit of soap bestowed on her by Madame Bo- 
 bineau, and she had several times emptied and then refilled her pail. 
 
 More than once she longed to give up, but she persevered, and at 
 last all was done. Marie felt sick and exhausted, but at least her 
 floor and her window were clean; so was the table and chair, and 
 everything else that could be washed. 
 
 It must be owned that there was a good deal of damp, but there 
 was also a wholesome smell of soap and water; the close mustiness 
 of the atmosphere had been banished, and the warm sun, streaming 
 in through the open window, would, Marie hoped, soon remove the 
 general sloppiness. 
 
 Then she looked ruefully at the long black cracks in the walls. 
 
 " If I could only get some paper and paste," she said, "I would 
 hide away those gaping cracks. I am afraid I can't clean the walls." 
 
 She smoothed her hair, tidied herself, and then went out. 
 
 Madame Bobineau had told her to come to the Red Glove at half- 
 past seven, and she had still time for a walk. Going up the flight 
 of steps, she found herself on a level with the rest of the town, and 
 she knew that if she went straight on she should reach the big tower 
 which Madame Bobineau had pointed out last night as a landmark. 
 But she need not go yet to Madame Bobineau's. 
 
 Marie had never gone out alone till yesterday, and even then an 
 old priest had conveyed her as far as Olten. There was a delicious
 
 50 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 sense of freedom in this ramble in the freshness of early morning. 
 She turned round, and went along the street built on the top of the 
 high wall which faced her lodging. There were pretty cottages 
 here, with flowers in every window, making a glory of scarlet and 
 orange in the sunshine. At the end of the street she came to a sort 
 of circular terrace, with a tree in its centre ; leaning against the 
 parapet of this terrace were some working-men. Marie looked 
 about her to see what they were gazing at. 
 
 The platform looked down the high, steep bank on to the blue- 
 green river ; on each side through the trees were the houses of 
 Berne, and across the river the green banks again rose steeply ; but 
 the men were not gazing at the river or the town, and Marie's eyes 
 followed theirs upward to the horizon. She gave a little cry, and 
 an old gray-headed workman turned and nodded at her with an ap- 
 proving smile. 
 
 "Aha!" he said; "you have luck; it is not often like this." 
 
 Before her in the distance was a long line of glittering light — the 
 peaks of the snow giants glistening in silver brilliance high up in 
 the sky. No threatening clouds dimmed their grandeur ; the sky 
 was bright and clear; it seemed as if silver fire burned within the 
 range of mountains. 
 
 Marie forgot all about her bedroom and her employer. She was 
 entranced with the scene before her. Once more she felt at home 
 again ; for at St. Esprit she had called the snow mountains her 
 friends. These were not the same, but they were more lovely, she 
 thought. They sent a thrill through her. Ah, how she wished 
 they did not look so far offl 
 
 "Ahem!" 
 
 A discreet cough made her turn to see who stood next her. A 
 hat was being raised in her honor, and a broad, bronzed face was 
 beaming with pleasure, till the small eyes in it narrowed. In a min- 
 ute she recognized the stout gentleman who had spoken to her yes- 
 terday in the Spitalgasse, and she smiled in answer to his greeting. 
 
 "Good-morning, mademoiselle," said Loigerot. "I need not ask 
 if you have slept well, for you look as fresh as the mountains do. 
 I heard of your safe arrival at the Red Glove from my good friend, 
 Madame Bobineau." 
 
 " You know her?" said Marie, quickly. 
 
 "I have that honor." He bowed again. "Mademoiselle, it is 
 my good-fortune to lodge in the house of Madame Bobineau." He
 
 r.^ms 
 
 'good-morning, mademoiselle, said loigerot.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 53 
 
 held his head very stiffly, and made a pause between each sentence, 
 as if he looked back at it, and made sure that no correction was 
 needed. "Mademoiselle," he went on, finding that Marie's eyes 
 were again fixed on the mountains, " is perhaps on her way to the 
 Red Glove. May I have the honor" — he took oS his hat and re- 
 mained uncovered while he finished his sentence — " of walking so 
 far with mademoiselle?" 
 
 There was a certain military swagger about the captain, spite his 
 humility, and he had taken up so much space in bowing to Marie, 
 with his feet planted widely apart, that the working-men leaning 
 against the parapet turned round to look, and were now smiling at 
 the stout middle-aged man's admiration for the young girl, who 
 seemed so unconscious of it. The captain only saw Marie, but the 
 girl felt annoyed at the attention he had drawn on her. 
 
 "You are very kind, monsieur," she said, "but I am late, and 
 shall have to go much faster than j^ou would care to go; so I will 
 say good-morning. I thank you very much." 
 
 She bowed and turned away, while the captain stood with his 
 mouth open, trying to form a new sentence. 
 
 " Confound it I" was the next sentence he produced; and he stood 
 with his stumpy legs wider apart than ever, staring after her. 
 ' ' Well, " he said, philosophically, ' ' it doesn't signify. I shall certainly 
 see her again. Berne is not so large as all that, and when I deter- 
 mine to do a thing, usually I do it." Then he paused, and a sudden 
 idea made his eyes twinkle. "I believe I want a pair of gloves," he 
 said to himself. This was evidently such a huge joke that he went 
 rolling along the pavement, laughing till his face looked like a cop- 
 per full moon. 
 
 At the angle of the street, however, a big yellow dog, that had just 
 been unfastened from a milk-cart, flew at him. The captain grasped 
 it by the collar, and shook it as if it had been a puppy. Then he 
 turned to the owner, a stalwart young peasant, who stood bending 
 over his tall, flat, wooden milk-pails, without an attempt to call off 
 his dog. 
 
 "Ah, my friend," said Loigerot, "how is it your dog has slipped 
 his muzzle? or do you forget that we are in August? Attention, 
 my friend." 
 
 And then he went smiling along the street. Berne had shaken 
 off its dulness for him. It held within it the possibility of an ad- 
 venture.
 
 PART II. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AT BREAKFAST. 
 
 Rudolf Engemann was 
 breakfasting at the Hotel Beau- 
 regard. The dining-room open- 
 ed from the spacious landing at 
 the top of the first flight of 
 stairs; the breakfast - room was 
 on the ground-floor, on the left 
 of the stair-foot, and it faced 
 the green inner hall where ma- 
 dame's palms and ferns, lighted 
 by the lantern at the top of the 
 well staircase, made such a pleas- 
 ant screen to her parlor, which, 
 as has been said, was glass-front- 
 ed at the end facing the stair- 
 case. Madame Carouge could 
 see, if she chose, every one who 
 came down the broad well stair- 
 case without being seen; but 
 there was no window in her 
 room on the side which faced 
 the double doors of the break- 
 fast-room. 
 
 Captain Loigerot came brisk- 
 ly into the hotel this morning, 
 with the intention of seeing 
 Madame Carouge; but just as 
 be reached the corner leading 
 to her sanctum the folding-doors 
 on his left were flung open by
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 55 
 
 Moritz. Monsieur Loigerot had time, while the waiter answered 
 some one over his shoulder, to see into the breakfast-room, and to 
 recognize his acquaintance Rudolf Engemann busily engaged in 
 eating at one of the small tables placed about the room. 
 
 This sight changed the ex-captain's intentions; the chance of a 
 gossip was not one to be given up easily, and although he never 
 made his own breakfast till much nearer noon, he rolled into the 
 room, and nodding to one or two dinner-table acquaintances, he 
 seated himself at Rudolf's little table. 
 
 " Good-morning, my friend," he said. "I have something to tell 
 you." 
 
 "Eh!" the young man said, gayly. "Are you going to change 
 your habits, my friend, and breakfast with the rest of us?" 
 
 Loigerot shook his head, and laid his hand on the front of his 
 tightly buttoned coat. 
 
 "Not if I know it." He leaned back and laughed in the deliber- 
 ate manner that seemed to give him so much enjoyment. "I re- 
 spect my digestion, and — my figure. Aha! you laugh, my young 
 friend; wait till you are forty or thereabouts, and then see what 
 will be the result of these cups of boiling cafe an lait that you so 
 freely indulge in in the early morning. If I so indulged my appe- 
 tites, mon Dieu ! I should soon resemble the glass ball in the garden 
 at the Schanzli, and should be able to roll along the streets of Berne 
 without making use of my legs." 
 
 He leaned back at this and laughed so heartily that the men at 
 the other tables joined in chorus; even the girl who gave out the 
 coffee, who happened to be crossing the room, stopped to enjoy the 
 captain's merriment. 
 
 Rudolf grew a little impatient of it ; he wanted to get a few 
 words with the charming widow before he went to his office; but 
 he felt obliged to wait for the captain's communication. At last 
 Loigerot stopped, and pulled out a big red pocket-handkerchief and 
 wiped his eyes. 
 
 "Ta, ta," he said. "Well, Monsieur Engemann, most haste is 
 not always best speed. If you had stayed behind last night and kept 
 me company, you would have heard something." 
 
 Monsieur Loigerot had by nature a loud voice, and his effort to 
 lower its tone as he made this communication only served to make 
 the other breakfasters listen for what was to come. 
 
 "I was right" — the captain leaned forward and looked impor- 
 
 3
 
 56 AT THE BED GLOVE. 
 
 tant; Engcmanu did not answer; and he went on: "I found out I 
 was right. The — the young person I had seen in the morning was 
 the cousin expected by Madame Bobineau. Aha ! what say you 
 now, my boy?" He patted Rudolf's shoulder. "It was she you 
 saw, and pretended that you saw she was not pretty." 
 
 Rudolf felt amused. Glancing across the room, he saw that 
 two of his fellow-clerks, who were also pensionnaires at the hotel, 
 were stifling their laughter, and were evidently listening to the 
 captain's story. Engemann looked at his moon-faced, rotund com- 
 panion, and decided that his taste in beauty would not be refined or 
 hard to satisfy. 
 
 "I forget where you saw her," he said, "or what she was like — 
 tall and stout, I fancy, a fine figure, eh?" His mocking smile was, 
 however, lost on the captain. 
 
 "Tall — yes, she is tall, and upright as a pole; but she is slim, 
 graceful too, everything that a young woman should be. She — " 
 
 He stopped abruptly ; he was about to relate his morning advent- 
 ure, when he became aware that Moritz, the head-waiter, was stand- 
 ing not far off, and probably overhearing what he said. 
 
 "I congratulate you, captain," said Engemann. "You will no 
 longer complain of the duluess of Berne, if this charming creature 
 stay in it." 
 
 Loigerot flushed up to his little eyes. He went on in a lower 
 voice: "Did I not tell you? She has come here expressly to help 
 our friend Madame Bobineau to sell her gloves. She is not to 
 lodge in the house ; madamc says there is no room. But " — here 
 the captain put his finger to his nose and looked knowing — "but I 
 agree with our hostess — lodgings are better; besides, the going to 
 and fro gives opportunities." 
 
 He became so very red, and looked so suddenly discomfited, that 
 Engemann could not help laughing, and the two fellow-clerks joined 
 in chorus. 
 
 Loigerot got up from his seat, and stuffed his hands into his pock- 
 ets as he walked to the window. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, captain." Rudolf laid down his napkin 
 and followed him. "But you don't seem to have lost time, if she 
 only arrived yesterday, and you talk of opportunities already." 
 
 " I did not say / had lost time," said Loigerot, gravely. "I only 
 said you had done so. I have told you all I had to tell you, young 
 man."
 
 
 THE CAPTAIN LEANED FORWARD AND LOOKED IMPORTANT.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 59 
 
 He turned his back and looked out of the window. He was 
 vexed with himself ; he did not mean to have said so much ; and 
 yet he must have told some one, and Eugemann was so evidently 
 infatuated with Madame Carouge that he was the best confidant he 
 could have chosen. The other men had laughed, but they had not 
 understood him — no, he felt sure they had not. Monsieur Loigerot 
 had no idea that he spoke so loud ; still, he did not want to surround 
 this young girl with a crowd of foolish admirers, and he thought the 
 safe plan would be to let Engemann leave the breakfast-room before 
 he himself did, so that he might have no temptation to repeat what 
 he had been listening to, to these young fellows. 
 
 Loigerot stood still, therefore, at the window; there was always 
 something going on in the street just below it, and to-day he was 
 charmed by the sight of three peasant girls, who stood gazing at the 
 showy mock -silver chains, medals, and brooches in a glass case in 
 front of a shop across the way. 
 
 "Pretty, unwise creatures," the captain thought: "they wish to 
 have these trinkets because they shine. Bah! they shine now, but 
 in a few weeks they will be tarnished and dull, if indeed they do 
 not show they are but brass, or worse. It is the way with the young; 
 the outside look, that is all they care for, whether it be in a husband 
 or a bodice chain." 
 
 He sighed, and then seeing that Engemann had departed, he too 
 went out to say a few words to Madame Carouge. The door of 
 her room stood open, and Loigerot heard her voice. She was speak- 
 ing so very earnestly that he did not like to go forward. He knew 
 that she could see him if she looked that way, so he stood watching 
 the trickle of the fountain, many-colored as the light fell on it, and 
 the moving reflected light on the palm fronds near it. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur," the rich full voice went on within the room, 
 "you are too kind in your thanks; it is I, on the contrary, who have 
 to thank you for the pleasant talks which brighten my monotonous 
 life." 
 
 Loigerot was too discreet to turn his head ; he could not, therefore, 
 see the sweet expression that filled the widow's dark eyes as she 
 raised them to look at Rudolf Engemann. The look thrilled through 
 the young fellow, and seemed to draw his heart out of him. He felt 
 perplexed and agitated as his eyes met that deep, liquid glance, at 
 once so tender and so beseeching. He had heard people say that 
 Madame Carouge had flashing eyes, but now the fire was quenched
 
 60 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 by a subdued sweetness, in harmony with the careless grace of her 
 attitude as slie leaned back on her little sofa. One hand lay in her 
 lap, and Rudolf found himself looking at her wedding - ring, and 
 wondering whether she had been happy with her husband. 
 
 " Is your life monotonous, then?" he said. 
 
 Loigerot could not help sniggering at the change in the young 
 man's voice. " Mbn Dieu! he would do for a stage lover," he 
 thought, over the palm leaves ; but he did not like his position, and 
 as it was evident he had escaped notice in the preoccupation of the 
 two within the parlor, he went softly back to the corner, and then 
 down to the entrance door, where he saw Moritz talking to some 
 new arrivals. 
 
 Rudolf's question was not answered at once ; madame sat thinking. 
 She put up one hand and let her soft rounded chin nestle between 
 an outspread thumb and finger, thereby showing exquisite curves 
 from the round supple wrist to the pointed little finger, and the rosy 
 hollowed palm. Rudolf thought how nectarine - like her cheek 
 glowed against her dark lashes as she sat thinking, her head bent a 
 little forward. 
 
 "You are right," she said at last. " Men who think can always 
 put the right word. I meant to convey the feeling which my life 
 gives me. Ah yes, you are right, monsieur. There is plenty of va- 
 riety in it, and I ought not to complain. Complaint is always use- 
 less, and disagreeable to others. " 
 
 She spoke very sadly. 
 
 " I do not see how one can get on without complaining some- 
 times," he said, simply, and with a consciousness that somehow he 
 had reproved her. " I think people are foolish who keep all their 
 grievances to themselves." 
 
 She looked up with a bright smile. 
 
 "And yet," she said, "you never speak of yours, and in this life 
 no one can hope to escape them." 
 
 A cough and then a loud scraping of the throat disturbed her and 
 checked Rudolf's answer. Madame Carouge rose up from the sofa 
 and came forward to the door. Captain Loigerot stood outside, 
 beaming with satisfaction; he bowed as low as his figure would 
 permit of. 
 
 ' ' I had the honor of receiving a message from you last night, ma- 
 dame," he said, "conveyed to me by Moritz, that you wished to see 
 me to-day. "
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 61 
 
 Madame Carouge bowed. " Monsieur is too kind," she said, grave- 
 ly; "I had not thought of disturbing him so early as this. I told 
 Moritz that if you could spare me five minutes before dinner I should 
 be very glad to ask Madame Bobineau to call in to-morrow as she 
 goes home from mass, if you will have the great kindness to convey 
 her my request. " 
 
 Loigerot put his hand on his heart. "I am always at your serv- 
 ice, madame," he said, effusively. "Morning or night, I am only 
 too happy to execute your commands whenever you honor me with 
 them." 
 
 His brow, as he spoke, was something to see. Involuntarily Ma- 
 dame Carouge took a step back as his bald crown bent itself into 
 view. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur, I do not know how to answer you," she said, soft- 
 ly, "unless I say. See what it is to be a soldier!" 
 
 Rudolf Engemann had been impatiently awaiting an opportunity 
 of taking his leave; Madame Carouge looked back at him with a 
 smile. 
 
 " I must say good-day, madame," he said. " I did not know it 
 was so late." 
 
 "Aha!" As Rudolf passed him, Loigerot looked up and winked 
 his right eye. " Time passes quickly when we are pleasantly en- 
 gaged." 
 
 Then he rubbed his hands and chuckled so loudly that the sound 
 followed Engemann to the entrance door, and made him hurry up 
 the street at a much quicker pace than usual. Madame Carouge re- 
 mained silent, and Loigerot remembered with confusion that she had 
 perhaps enjoyed her tete-d-tete as much as Engemann had. 
 
 He became grave in an instant. "Then madame wishes me to 
 say to Madame Bobineau that she is to have the pleasure of calling 
 here to-morrow." 
 
 ' ' I thank you, monsieur. " She courtesied, and drew back into her 
 room, as if to say that the interview was over. She was surprised 
 when Loigerot followed her in. Coming up close beside her, he said, 
 in a low voice, 
 
 "Have you heard about Madame Bobineau's cousin, madame?" 
 
 The widow's heavy eyebrows drew nearer to each other ; Mon- 
 sieur Loigerot had seldom ventured across her threshold. Monsieur 
 Engemann was the only male guest who came farther than the door- 
 way as a right, unless, indeed, it was Riesen the clockmaker; but
 
 62 AT THE RED GLOVE, 
 
 then he was a neighbor, and he regulated all the clocks of the 
 hotel. 
 
 "No, monsieur," she said, stiffly; "I rarely see Madame Bobi- 
 neau." 
 
 Loigerot was too much bent on telling his news to care for the 
 stiff tone in which she spoke, though at another time it might have 
 caught his ear. 
 
 "Ah!" — he lowered his voice still more; "then you have some- 
 thing to see. A young girl arrived" — he stopped suddenly; the 
 widow's lower lip was full of scorn : indeed, even the captain, who 
 was rather obtuse in perception, could not fail to see that Madame 
 Carouge felt no interest whatever in the young girl he had been 
 about to describe. 
 
 " Indeed!" she said. " Then I may count on your delivering my 
 message. Thank you again, monsieur, for your condescension." 
 
 She was too polite to seat herself at her desk, but the captain felt 
 that he was expected to go away. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A FAINT HEART. 
 
 Rudolf Engemann had walked on very quickly till he reached 
 the bank. As he approached the clockmaker's shop he saw that 
 Monsieur Riesen was standing in his door-way, ready to exchange a 
 morning greeting; but Rudolf was preoccupied, he did not want to 
 speak to any one. 
 
 His thoughts were full of Madame Carouge. He had been joked 
 about her by Loigerot and some of the other regular pensionnaires of 
 the hotel, and these jokes had ruffled his simple loyal nature. 
 
 Rudolf was a fine, tall young fellow, and he was twenty-three years 
 old; but he had lived very quietly at Fribourg with his old father and 
 mother, and since he had lost them last winter he had not felt much 
 inclination to seek out friends. As yet no woman's coquetry towards 
 him had tarnished the reverence he felt for women. He was grate- 
 ful to Madame Carouge for her friendliness ; it had seemed to him 
 an impertinence that these common-minded talkers should thus free- 
 ly discuss his relations with so perfect a woman. 
 
 She was to him all that a woman should be, and he felt an inde-
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 63 
 
 scribable pleasure in looking at her and listening to her full mellow 
 voice. But to-day he felt troubled by the change in her manner 
 towards him. 
 
 She had been wonderfully kind; he knew very well that she rare- 
 ly admitted Loigerot into her sanctum; he and Rudolf's fellow- 
 clerks did all their business with Moritz at the bureau on the right 
 of the entrance; unless, indeed, as had happened to Loigerot this 
 morning, Madame Carouge had sent a special message to request his 
 presence. 
 
 "Loigerot does far more for the Beauregard than I do," he 
 thought. "He drinks plenty of wine, which I cannot afford to do; 
 her friendship for me is simple kindness." 
 
 He had often gone through this formula during the last two 
 months, but to-day, and indeed once or twice before, it had not sat- 
 isfied him ; her manner had changed ; something beyond her kind- 
 ness puzzled him now. Madame Carouge had become so grave; 
 she was kinder than ever, but more restrained. Really, when he 
 recalled her sweet downcast confusion, and then the melting glance 
 he had met with in those beautiful eyes of hers just now, an odd 
 sensation that was chiefly pleasure, but which had yet a thread of 
 perplexity interwoven with it, kept him absorbed, even after he had 
 reached the bank and was seated before his desk. As he went in 
 he had met one of his fellow-clerks who dined daily at the Hotel 
 Beauregard. 
 
 "I congratulate you, Engemann,"he said. "Have you got the 
 widow to fix a day for the wedding?" 
 
 Rudolf merely raised his shoulders and passed in, but the words 
 went with him. When he began to write, it seemed as if he saw on 
 the paper the dark, glowing face of Madame Carouge. 
 
 All at once the puzzle went away; a warm feeUng of pleasure 
 filled his veins ; life seemed to open before him a broad, smooth 
 path, golden with sunshine. Rudolf asked himself why he should 
 not grasp this pleasant portion which almost, he believed, might be 
 his for the asking. It seemed unmanly to hesitate. The doubt and 
 self -rebuke which had so often checked him kept silence now while 
 he asked himself whether the change he had noted in Madame Ca- 
 rouge was not meant to encourage his hopes. 
 
 Rudolf was too simple to believe in the extent of the widow's 
 love. He told himself that his admiration had not displeased her, 
 and that she had attributed his slowness and coldness to the real
 
 64 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 cause — his want of means. In her generosity she had tried to take 
 away this barrier in his path. Still, he did not like the disparity 
 between them. She was some years older, but her beauty would 
 make up for that ; his independent nature revolted entirely from 
 the notion of a wife so much richer than he was. When the jok- 
 ers had begun their raillery, he had shrunk from the idea of marry- 
 ing a widow. Living with his old parents, who had in their youth 
 married for love, he had grown up with old-fashioned ideas, one of 
 which was a fancy that he would like to be the sole possessor of his 
 wife's affections, supposing that he ever took a wife. He had lived 
 so much alone that he had had more time for reflection than most 
 young fellows have, and as he was by nature silent and reticent, he 
 often dreamed about the future, while his companions enjoyed the 
 present. 
 
 His dream to-day was too distracting, and as idleness was not one 
 of his characteristics, he roused himself from it and compelled his 
 attention to fix on the business of the day. When this was over, he 
 lingered at his desk till the other clerks departed, and then he start- 
 ed for a walk. Usually he went down to the platform in front of 
 the cathedral to look at the grand view of the blue-green Aar foam- 
 ing over its weir, with the far-off background of snow mountains; 
 but on this platform on Saturday afternoon there was a certain risk 
 of meeting acquaintances ; among them the stout ex - captain was 
 sure to be found chatting with the nurse-maids, who brought their 
 charges to play on the grass, and Rudolf wanted to keep clear of 
 the captain till dinner-time. He therefore found his way to the riv- 
 er-side some way from the mtlnster platform, and then walked out 
 towards the country southward. 
 
 He was impatient to see Madame Carouge, and yet he shrank from 
 their next meeting. His old visions of a love marriage with a young 
 girl came back, and he asked himself whether he was sure that this 
 beautiful, fascinating woman was really the lifelong companion he 
 coveted. 
 
 He knew so little about her— just as they began to talk on some- 
 thing more interesting than usual, Moritz was sure to bring an inter- 
 ruption ; it seemed as though they were perpetually checked on the 
 verge of becoming intimate. And the young fellow felt that this 
 would go on, and with his old-fasliioned ideas he shrank from vent- 
 uring such an important question as marriage on mere liking. He 
 felt, too, that his present position could not continue. Sooner or
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE, 65 
 
 later one of these jokes so freely circulated would reach the ears of 
 Madame Carouge, and she would feel herself compromised. 
 
 A sudden light came to him as he walked disconsolately along the 
 dull road. The promised day at Thun would at least be free from 
 interruptions; he could then judge for himself. His manliness cried 
 out that he was unworthy to win a woman if he could consider her 
 in this cold-blooded fashion, while more worldly promptings whis- 
 pered him not to be unwise, not to allow a romantic scruple to stand 
 in the way of the prosperous future that lay before him as the hus- 
 band of Madame Carouge. 
 
 When he thought of her position he winced a little: he should not 
 like his wife to sit where any strange idler might, if he chose to take 
 the trouble, gaze through the window at her, even speak to her; and 
 then he smiled and told himself not to be premature. One of his 
 perplexities had left him; without owning his conquest to himself 
 in any boastful manner, he seemed at times to have lost doubt and 
 fear about Madame Carouge's feelings for him. 
 
 "We will leave it all till that Sunday comes;" and turning back 
 by a cross-road he soon came in sight of the gate flanked with the 
 stone bears that seem to defy intruders to enter Berne. 
 
 He looked at his watch. He was surprised to find how late it was; 
 he had scarcely time to go to his lodgings before proceeding to 
 the table-d'hote. 
 
 He went rapidly along under the arcades. Just as he reached the 
 Red Glove his two fellow - clerks who frequented the Beauregard 
 came laughing out of the shop. They saw Engemann, and blocked 
 up the way. 
 
 " Go into the shop and look at the girl," one of them said. " The 
 old captain has not such bad taste, after all. " 
 
 " She is too pale for Engemann," the other said. " Bless you! he 
 will see no beauty in her; he likes something more full-blown." 
 
 The last speaker was a mere lad, and Rudolf looked sternly at 
 him. 
 
 "Look here, Wengern," he said, "a joke is well enough within 
 limits, but a joke carried too far is very bad and offensive. I wish 
 you good-evening." 
 
 He looked calm and determined ; the clerks walked away, 
 sniggering, when they got to a safe distance, about the airs the 
 young giant gave himself. 
 
 Till this meeting, Rudolf had forgotten the captain's adventure. 
 
 3*
 
 66 AT TEIE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Now he looked in through the glass door of the shop, and caught a 
 glimpse of Marie. She stood behind the counter with her handker- 
 chief to her eyes. He heard Madame Bobineau's voice, and glanc- 
 ing towards the desk, he saw that his civil-spoken landlady's small 
 eyes gleamed with anger. Rudolf gave another backward glance 
 at Marie. 
 
 " It's a shame," he thought, " that she should be made to cry. I 
 dare say she laughed when those fellows talked to her, and the old 
 woman is a prude. "Well, she should not have a young girl in her 
 shop in a town like Berne." 
 
 This was evidently not an opportune moment in which to make 
 acquaintance with Madame Bobineau's cousin; there was plenty of 
 time for that, he thought, as he opened the house door. Before he 
 reached the staircase his landlady's shrill voice made itself distinct, 
 
 " I tell you it must be done: a customer is a customer, and his 
 gloves must be duly measured. Do you suppose, you vain little 
 hussy, that a gentleman thinks who it is that measures him? He 
 thinks of his gloves, that's all. " 
 
 Rudolf hurried up -stairs, and so lost the end of the scolding. 
 
 The bell had rung for table - d'hote before he reached the hotel ; 
 he found every one busy eating their soup, except a few late ar- 
 rivals, who sat tucking the corners of their table napkins into their 
 waistcoats. The two clerks soon began to tease Loigerot about his 
 pretty shop-girl. 
 
 "Did you see her, Engemann?" said one of them. 
 
 The captain looked sharply at Rudolf as he answered. 
 
 " I was hurried. I only got a glimpse through the window." 
 
 "Did I not tell you?" the young one began; but a nudge from his 
 companion silenced him, and as the captain at once started a fresh 
 subject, no more was said about the Red Glove. 
 
 When dinner came at last to an end, Rudolf took care to leave 
 the hotel with the rest. He resolved not to give fresh food to these 
 gossips on the subject of his interview with Madame Carouge.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 67 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MADAME BOBENEAtJ LOSES HER SUPPER. 
 
 MADASfE BoBiNEAU never failed in her attendance at early mass 
 on Sundays and on Church Festivals, and as the Hotel Beauregard 
 lay in her way home, she often called in to see the widow. It must 
 be confessed that Madame Carouge had a horror of early rising, and 
 preferred high mass to the services that preceded it. 
 
 Madame Bobineau said it feasted her eyes to get even a glimpse of 
 the beautiful widow — certainly she often managed to combine this 
 kind of refreshment with the promise of a more material feast ; and 
 in this prospect of carrying home an excellent Sunday dinner it had 
 become a habit with her to take occasionally a small flag basket to 
 church. She managed to wear this under her ample skirt, and she 
 produced it when she saw that Madame Carouge had some dainties 
 to offer. 
 
 Sometimes half a chicken or a tempting sweetbread fell to her 
 lot, or a dish of cutlets or stewed kidneys would be ready packed 
 for her in a little covered terrine, and to this Madame Carouge often 
 added a half bottle of Diedesheimer. Yesterday, however, a dis- 
 tinct message had been sent to the Red Glove through Captain Loi- 
 gerot. But though Madame Bobineau felt her appetite quicken at 
 the prospect of sundry dainties, she resolved to deny herself the en- 
 joyment of them till after supper. Her former shop-girls had spent 
 their Sundays at home, but she was Marie's only friend in Berne, and 
 the girl must dine and sup with her. It was possible, she reflected, 
 as she drew near the hotel, that her liberal friend, in consideration 
 of Marie, might bestow a double portion. 
 
 Madame Bobineau smacked her thin lips. " So much the better 
 for me," she said to herself; " for it is not well to pamper a young 
 girl. Marie cannot have been used to dainties at the convent." 
 
 With this reflection she stepped cheerfully into the entrance of 
 the Beauregard. Moritz's pensive, consumptive face showed at the 
 door of his bureau, but when he saw Madame Bobineau he bowed 
 and grinned and retreated, in spite of the elaborate courtesy and
 
 68 
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 smile with which she greeted him. She went round softly to the 
 glazed end of the widow's parlor; the door stood open; but her cat- 
 like tread made no sound, and Madame Carouge gave a little start 
 when she found the old woman's eyes fixed on her in intense scru- 
 tiny. 
 
 The widow was sitting on her sofa in deep thought, and she had 
 to force a smile, for the interruption came at a wrong moment. 
 She was trying for about the twentieth time to give herself a reason 
 why Monsieur Engemann had not lingered to speak to her after 
 dinner yesterday. She felt chilled and disquieted. And yet he had 
 often gone out in this way with his friends; but then, she argued to 
 herself, yesterday morning's interview had completely changed their 
 relations to each other ; he had never before looked at her as he 
 had looked yesterday morning. Love had shone in his eyes, and 
 who could say but for that officious Moritz he might have declared 
 his passion. 
 
 And here it occurred to Madame Carouge that this was not the 
 first time that Moritz had broken in upon her talks with Monsieur 
 Engemann. She frowned a little as this idea presented itself, and 
 looking up, found herself face to face with Madame Bobineau. 
 
 The mistress of the Red Glove looked so like an old witch that 
 Madame Carouge shivered and turned slightly pale. She felt as if 
 this inquisitive old woman could read her secret thoughts. But she 
 spoke to her pleasantly. 
 
 " Good - morning, neighbor; you are earlier than usual. How 
 have you been lately?" 
 
 Madame Bobineau kept the widow's soft golden-brown hand in 
 her lean grasp, and gazed admiringly in her rich friend's handsome 
 face. 
 
 "There is no need to ask how you are," she said. " You look 
 like a newly opened rose, with your eyes as bright as diamonds." 
 
 Madame Carouge turned away with a perceptible shrug of the 
 shoulder; there was little variety in the old woman's compliments, 
 and she was not in a mood for flattery this morning. The bead- 
 like eyes looked keenly round the room, but they could not spy any 
 parcel likely to contain dainties. 
 
 "You were so good, madame," the old woman said, humbly, "as 
 to send me word by Captain Loigerot — ah, what an excellent gen- 
 tleman he is ! — that you wished me to call in on my way from mass 
 this morning."
 
 MADAME BOBINEAU KKPT TllK riui I UuLDEN-BUOWN HAND IN HER LEAN GRASP.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 71 
 
 "Ah, so I did." Madame Carouge spoke with studied careless- 
 ness. She saw the greedy eyes furtively searching every corner, and 
 she enjoyed Madame Bobineau's anxiety. "Let me see — what was 
 it I heard? — I remember. Monsieur Loigerot told me that you have 
 adopted a young relative; that you have her in your shop." 
 
 Madame Bobineau's hopes sank; but then this question might 
 bear on the extra supplies she was hoping for. 
 
 "I should have come, dear madame, without your summons, to 
 tell you about her. You are always so kind that I should have 
 ventured to believe that you would take some interest in my little 
 cousin." 
 
 " Ah, then it is a child that you have adopted. But will you not 
 find it a troublesome charge? — you will have to send it to school, 
 my good Madame Bobineau; you cannot keep a child in the shop." 
 
 "It is not so bad as that," the old woman answered. "It is a 
 heavy burden," she went on in a whining voice; "but what could 
 I do? I could not leave my poor Berthold's child to be a burden to 
 strangers, and I — I want help in the shop." 
 
 Madame Carouge looked grave. 
 
 "How old is she? and what is she like?" 
 
 Madame Bobineau's eyes became keener than ever. 
 
 "Oh, madame, after all, she is a mere girl — sixteen or thereabout 
 — a simple child fresh from her convent." 
 
 "In that case" — madame's full, rich voice became hard and dry 
 — "I do not think a glove shop is a good beginning for her. She 
 would be safer at a dress-maker's, or even in a draper's shop." 
 
 Madame Bobineau was at once aggrieved and alarmed. 
 
 "I am also in the shop, madame, or at worst I can see through 
 the glass door. But I assure you Marie is more inclined to prudery 
 than to flirting. Why, only yesterday, when two of your boarders 
 came in, the little chit actually let them choose and measure their 
 own gloves themselves." 
 
 " What did you expect her to do, then?" The widow could not 
 help smiling at Madame Bobineau's indignation. 
 
 "Well, my dear madame, you will, I am sure, agree with me that 
 a girl of that age should do as she is bid, and should not take up 
 ideas of her own. " 
 
 Madame Carouge was so amused that her pearly teeth showed 
 plainly. 
 
 "Actually, madame," the old woman went on, "she had the face
 
 72 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 to tell me that the gentlemen stared at her, and that she considered 
 them impertinent." 
 
 "Perhaps they did stare rudely," said Madame Carouge, thought- 
 fully; "who did you say they were?" 
 
 " Two of your boarders, madame — young Monsieur Wengern and 
 Monsieur Christen. I am sure they are very civil gentlemen." 
 
 "They may have been too civil, my good woman" — the widow's 
 manner was still constrained; "but she must be pretty, this young 
 cousin of yours : those are not young men who would stare at a 
 plain girl." 
 
 "Yes, the girl is passable." Then remembering that Madame 
 Carouge would probably go to the Red Glove and form her own 
 judgment of Marie, " Captain Loigerot says she is pretty, but—" 
 
 "Do you mean to say," Madame Carouge interrupted, so sharply 
 that the old woman's eyes and mouth opened simultaneously, "that 
 you have this young and pretty girl to live in your house, so that 
 she makes acquaintance with your lodgers?" 
 
 Madame Bobineau cringed and trembled. She felt almost scorched 
 by the fire that blazed in the widow's soft, velvet-like eyes. 
 
 "No, no, indeed, madame. I ask a hundred pardons; but ma- 
 dame has altogether mistaken me. Marie does not sleep at the Red 
 Glove — dear me, no ; I could not have dreamed of anything so im- 
 proper. She has a lodging in the Cour du Pints, and by no chance 
 does she go into the passage reserved for the lodgers." 
 
 " Then how has Monsieur Loigerot made acquaintance with her? 
 — he is not a man to buy gloves." The widow looked stern and 
 unbelieving. 
 
 "Madame is right, as she always is." Bobineau spoke fawning- 
 ly, and put her lean, hooked fingers on her beautiful friend's arm. 
 "The captain does not buy gloves; but on the morning of Marie's 
 arrival he saw her near the station, and showed her the way to my 
 house. The captain is a kind man, madame. Only last night, when 
 I was talking to him and to Monsieur Engemann — ah, is not that a 
 beautiful young man?— the captain said I ought to— to interest you 
 in my little cousin." 
 
 She stammered over the last words, for another scorching glance 
 told her that her speech had given offence. 
 
 Madame Carouge's broad eyebrows knit, she raised her head 
 proudly, and seemed to the frightened old woma,n to look grander 
 and more beautiful than ever.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 73 
 
 " Do you meau me to understand, Madame Bobineau, tliat at your 
 age and with your experience you talk to your gentlemen lodgers 
 about your shop-girl ? You must excuse me if I say that your 
 young cousin would have been safer in her convent than she is 
 likely to be under your care." 
 
 She spoke haughtily; her words seemed to stab her listener; Ma- 
 dame Bobineau almost choked with alarm. 
 
 "You mistake me, madame," she said. "Captain Loigerot came 
 in last night with Monsieur Engemann, and as I happened to be in 
 the passage, the captain asked after little Marie." 
 
 "The captain is not young" — Madame Carouge spoke very se- 
 verely; "but I am shocked that you should talk about a young girl 
 to Monsieur Engemann — " 
 
 She stopped suddenly, as if she had said too much. Madame 
 Bobineau sighed with relief. 
 
 "Ah, madame" — she spoke in her most fawning tone — "of all 
 the gentlemen in Berne, I consider him the safest — as safe as a mar- 
 ried man." Here she gave a rather cynical smile. "It could not 
 be possible to worship you, madame, and to have eyes for any other 
 woman. No, madame, believe me Monsieur Engemann will not 
 even look at my little cousin." 
 
 If Madame Carouge had been standing, she would have stamped 
 with impatience at her friend's indiscretion. 
 
 "You are making a great mistake, Madame Bobineau." She 
 spoke with chill dignity. "You have been listening to gossip, I 
 fear. I am not thinking about Monsieur Wengern, or Monsieur 
 Engemann, or any gentleman in particular. I am trying to show 
 you how to take care of your little cousin. It seems to me I am a 
 fitter counsellor in the matter than Captain Loigerot is." 
 
 "Ah, madame " — the old woman rose and courtesied; she literally 
 quivered with the fear of having lost her supper — "you are as wise 
 as you are beautiful. I will follow your advice in all things." 
 
 " Then," said Madame Carouge, smiling, "the best thing you can 
 do is to find a husband to take care of this little girl as soon as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 Madame Bobineau clasped her skinny hands and turned up her 
 little eyes. 
 
 " A husband! But, madame, she has not a penny; and although I 
 am willing to feed and clothe her, I am not able to provide a marriage- 
 portion. Heavens! how should a poor old woman like me do so?"
 
 V4 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Madame Carouge gave her a smile full of scorn. 
 
 " I see you do not want advice, neighbor; your mind is made up. 
 Good! go your own way; but when you come to me in three months' 
 time to complain that your little cousin's head is turned with flat- 
 tery, or perhaps— there are plenty of bad people in Berne— that she 
 is ruined, I shall have no pity for you." 
 
 She rose up, and shaking out her skirts, as if she dismissed the 
 subject and her visitor, she went slowly to her desk. 
 
 Madame Bobineau followed her and touched her arm, her lean 
 fingers trembled ; had she actually offended her best friend for the 
 sake of a chit like Marie? 
 
 "Pardon me, madame; I am an old fool to set my judgment up 
 against yours. If you can find any one who— who can maintain a 
 wife, and is willing to take Marie without a portion, she shall marry 
 him." 
 
 "That is right. Leave it to me; I will find your little Marie a 
 husband," said Madame Carouge. "And now, my good friend, I 
 must ask you to leave me, or I shall be late at mass. " 
 
 There was plainly to - day no forth - coming supper for Madame 
 Bobineau, and after prolonging her leave-taking as long as she dared, 
 she departed, smarting with vexation and disappointed greed, of 
 which she considered Marie the primary cause. 
 
 Marriage for the little chit! How could Madame Carouge be so 
 foolish? She had better leave the girl alone. Just as she had had 
 the trouble of teaching Marie her duties, she was to be distracted 
 with this notion of marriage; and the worst of it was, there was no 
 way out of it: the beautiful widow always kept her promises. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HOPE AND FEAR. 
 
 Madame Carouge stood still for some time after her visitor's de- 
 parture. She was so absorbed in thinking that she failed to hear a 
 tap at her door— at first timid, then smartly repeated. 
 
 Madame Bobineau had left the door partly open, and the widow 
 started when she heard a familiar voice say, "May I come in?" 
 
 Madame Carouge opened the door fully. "How do you do. Mon- 
 sieur Riesen?" she said. " You have something pleasant to tell me, 
 I am sure."
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 75 
 
 She seated herself on the sofa, and patting it, smiled graciously at 
 her visitor. 
 
 Monsieur Riesen took the seat indicated, thus making a remark- 
 able contrast to his hostess. He was a tall, large-boned man, with a 
 sickly complexion, gray hair, and large, deep - set, gray eyes. Ilis 
 face was so thin that his eyes had sunk back, and seemed to peer 
 suspiciously through his dark, shaggy eyebrows, as he stooped for- 
 ward to listen. 
 
 " Well, madame, " he said, "as for pleasant news, I am not sure 
 whether you will think mine so. Here is another fine Sunday, and 
 I regret to say I am still obliged to defer our excursion; and next 
 Sunday may bring torrents of rain with it. But it is always so, is it 
 not?" 
 
 He looked so melancholy that she laughed. 
 
 "That Sunday always brings torrents of rain? No, my good 
 friend, and to-day gives you a contradiction. But then is it really 
 settled for next Sunday? Ah! I am glad." She clapped her hands 
 with a gayety that scarcely harmonized with the intense expression 
 in her eyes and the grand lines of her figure. 
 
 Riesen was enchanted. He had not expected his news to be re- 
 ceived so pleasantly. 
 
 " You look divine to-day, madame." He bent his long back over 
 her, and spoke in an insinuating whisper. "It will not matter what 
 sort of weather we have for our excursion: we shall have only to 
 look at you to feel sure that sunshine is with us." 
 
 "Prettily said, monsieur; but I prefer real sunshine. It is a pity 
 we could not go to-day." 
 
 "Yes," he sighed; "but then life is full of these vexations for 
 me " — he put his hand on his chest. "I am old, and life is always 
 vexing; but to you, young, rich, and beautiful, all vexation should 
 be spared, every wish should be fulfilled. It is grievous to me that 
 I should in any way cause you disappointment." 
 
 She turned suddenly and faced him. " Is it, then, quite impos- 
 sible we can go to-day?" 
 
 " I grieve to say, yes. Various reasons have concurred to make 
 it out of the question." 
 
 This seemed the safest answer he could make. He felt sure that 
 the fact of his being more than usually dyspeptic would not be ac- 
 cepted by Madame Carouge as a sufficient reason. 
 
 "You must really try not to disappoint me again, monsieur " — she
 
 v 
 
 TG AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 pouted a little, and thereby looked more charming than ever. "But 
 how is it, then, that you came to see me? I thought you were a de- 
 vout Protestant, Monsieur Riesen, and were always in church at this 
 time of day?" 
 
 " Well, yes " — he drew a long face and got up unwillingly — "but 
 it is so pleasant here, and I feared you might be making some other 
 engagement for next Sunday. If we have a day like this it will be 
 divine, though it is not I who shall enjoy it to perfection." 
 
 He sighed, and elevated his eyebrows with a look of admiration. 
 
 Of this Madame Carouge took no notice, but she shook her head 
 in rebuke of his words. "You ought to enjoy it thoroughly, mon- 
 sieur; you will have the benefit and the pleasure of an open-air holi- 
 day in the society of your wife." 
 
 Riesen made a grimace. "Do you enjoy things because you 
 ought?" he said, in a whisper. "No; be lieve me, dear friend, plea s- 
 ure and duty _we.re never yet mated. " 
 ^ "You are talking treason, and you know it." Madame Carouge 
 looked so scornful, spite of her smile, that Riesen winced a little. 
 " I will say au revoir to you, neighbor, for I am a little hurried this 
 morning. " 
 
 As soon as the clockmaker had departed, Madame Carouge opened 
 the door communicating with the bureau. 
 
 "Moritz!" she called. 
 
 In an instant the thin-faced waiter appeared before her. 
 
 "If any one wants me this morning, say I am gone to church." 
 
 "Yes, madame." 
 
 Moritz went back to his desk with a pleased smile, and Madame 
 Carouge mounted to her bedroom. But she did not get ready for 
 church. 
 
 She placed herself before her looking-glass, and stood there several 
 minutes gazing at the beautiful reflection. 
 
 "Yes, I must be handsome, " she thought. "I cannot remember 
 the time when I was not made to know it. " She turned from the 
 glass with a look of disgust. "If they only guessed how sick I am 
 of hearing their flattery! What do I know? it is perhaps because 
 Rudolf has never paid me a compliment that I love him. Ah ! how 
 I love him!" She hid her glowing face between her hands, and sat 
 down in au easy-chair. 
 
 Presently she let her hands fall in her lap ; her lip curved upward 
 and showed her lovel}' teeth.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 77 
 
 "How little one knows one's self! How often through those dull 
 ten years I said, ' Ah ! when I get my liberty I will never lose it 
 again. I will be free— free as a bird— for the rest of my life.'" She 
 laughed a little at the thought her words called up. "Poor little 
 Zizi singing in his cage down-stairs would be wiser than I have been, 
 if he found his cage door open. Carouge has been dead little more 
 than a year, and I am already tired of my liberty. I have none left." 
 She struck her closed hand on the marble shelf below her mirror. 
 "My married life was only imprisonment — at least, my heart was 
 free; but now I do not seem to belong to myself. What a weak 
 creature I am ! I only feel really living in Rudolf's presence. Be- 
 tween the times I see him is like a dull dream that has to be got 
 through somehow." 
 
 She sat thinking. It was such a chance that she had known him! 
 If she had followed the suggestion of Carouge 's man of business, 
 Rudolf Engemann might still have been a stranger to her. When 
 she was told that her husband had left her all he possessed, she was 
 advised to live for a while in retirement, and it was suggested that 
 Moritz, the head - waiter of the Hotel Beauregard, was capable of 
 carrying on the business for her benefit. 
 
 Even now she smiled as she remembered her answer, and the sur- 
 prise it had elicited. 
 
 She had looked fixedly in the face of the sleek, stolid man, who 
 she knew considered her a pretty doll, for whom everything must be 
 arranged. 
 
 " Monsieur," she said, " I am eight-and-twenty— quite old enough 
 to take care of myself, and Moritz can manage the Beauregard under 
 me just as well as he could without me." 
 
 And the lawyer had been obliged to own at the end of the first 
 few months that the hotel was far more flourishing since the beau- 
 tiful young widow had established herself there. She gave all her 
 orders through Moritz, and he was her slave. Although she had soon 
 remodelled the household, and had made many changes in the in- 
 ternal arrangements, he had never murmured, but had borne pa- 
 tiently with the ill-will shown by some of the older servants. 
 
 Now, as she sat musing, she was half ashamed of, half amxised at, 
 the stir which Madame Bobineau had awakened in her. And grow- 
 ing calm again, she asked herself what had been the use of her 
 studies in these past years. Had she not taught herself that true 
 love could not change? If this were true, she was unreasonable to
 
 78 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 doubt Rudolf Engemann. She had lived on in the hope that some 
 day she should go out into the world and find this other half of her 
 soul which she had dreamed of. 
 
 And one day, six months ago now, Captain Loigerot, who had 
 some time before introduced himself to her as her husband's friend, 
 presented to her Monsieur Rudolf Engemann, a gentleman newly 
 arrived from Fribourg, who was about to take up his residence in 
 Berne, and wished to become a boarder at the Hotel Beauregard. 
 
 When she sat alone in the evening after this short interview, Ma- 
 dame Carouge knew that she had seen the realization of her dream. 
 The conviction came to her with a sad certainty, which left no doubt 
 of its truth. 
 
 Since her husband's death — more than a year ago now— she had 
 lived in as much seclusion as her position would allow, and yet she 
 could not help seeing the universal admiration her beauty excited. 
 She had not been aware that Rudolf Engemann admired her. He 
 had looked at her attentively, but as she met his gaze her thoughts 
 had at once occupied themselves with him ; indeed, he had ever 
 since held them captive, ceaselessly filled with his image. 
 
 A strangely new life had begun for her; she felt changed, timidly 
 anxious about the impression she had made on this young Swiss. 
 Since then his manner and his attentions satisfied her when she was 
 with him, but in his absence fear and harassing doubts attested the 
 strength of her love. Every day she sought anxiously in her glass 
 for a trace of the years which she knew made her older than Mon- 
 sieur Engemann, but her love-fraught eyes only made her look more 
 attractive ; she could not see any mark of time's fingers. 
 
 "I wrong him too much," she thought, "by these silly doubts. 
 If Rudolf loves me, he could not easily give me up; and if he does 
 not love me, can I wish to keep his attentions?" 
 
 But she could not answer this question. She looked once more 
 at herself. If her beauty did not satisfy Rudolf, she felt that her 
 pride in it was over; she would have cast it all away if she could 
 become that which he desired. 
 
 "Nonsense!" she said, softly to herself, the light of hope shining 
 in the dark beauty of her eyes. "They cannot all be wrong ; he 
 does love me: see how the captain stands aloof when Rudolf is with 
 me. Riesen and his wife, and Madame Bobineau too, they cannot 
 all deceive themselves. " 
 
 She remembered that true love was rarely self-confident, and this
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 79 
 
 might apply to Rudolf as well as to herself. In his case the knowl- 
 edge that she was wealthy would certainly revolt his independence 
 and tie his tongue. Once more she told herself, blushing, that when 
 Sunday came she must try to give her lover decided encourage- 
 ment. 
 
 " It is too late for mass to-day," she said.
 
 >'k'<?ir3r 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE BEAR PIT. 
 
 Last Sunday had been rainy; the 
 bright sunshine of this Sunday had 
 put all the holiday-makers in good- 
 humor, and they came trooping 
 along -with gay, expectant faces. 
 They flocked out of the tall houses 
 on each side of the long street that 
 stretches from one end of the town 
 to the other till it reaches the Ny- 
 deck bridge ; they came, too, in 
 merry groups from the side streets 
 and alleys, till the long street seemed 
 filled with the wearers of straw hats and bonnets trimmed with knots 
 and garlands of flowers. They wore chiefly sombre-colored skirts, 
 but many of them had the dazzling white sleeves and chemisettes 
 and the glittering silver cliains and brooches of the canton. 
 
 A buzz of talk went on among these women ; there were plenty 
 of children too, in Sunday garb, and with round, festive faces, their 
 eyes big with anticipation ; they were going to the cathedral plat- 
 form to eat cakes and play on the grass. There were few men in 
 the crowd. Most of them had lounged off in the direction of the
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 81 
 
 Enge, or of the bastions. A few, however, with stolid, patient faces, 
 went on with their women and children, but these kept on past the 
 turning to the mlinster, along the street, till they reached the bridge 
 which unites the long promontory on which the city stands to the 
 country beyond it. Most of these people were of the poorest class, 
 and they were going to pay their Sunday visit to the living legend 
 of their city, the famous bears of Berne. 
 
 Marie and Madame Bobineau were in the crowd. The old woman 
 looked cheerful ; her feelings had been soothed by the arrival of a 
 basket from the Hotel Beauregard. Inside of it she had found so 
 ample a repast that she had actually given Marie some cutlets for 
 her dinner. She was looking forward to a luxurious supper when 
 the girl went home to her lodging. 
 
 Marie was in ecstasy. As she walked along she thought Berne 
 was the most beautiful place she had ever seen, and to-day the bright 
 sun-glow brought every point into high relief; the quaint fountains 
 looked more many-colored, the gay stripes of the red and orange 
 window-blinds had never seemed so vivid, and the brilliant effects 
 of light and shade in the arcaded streets made constant pictures. 
 The girl's eyes seemed to dance with happiness as she moved airily 
 along beside her old companion. 
 
 Now they reached the end of the street. On the right is the 
 bridge, and in front of them is the beautiful blue-green river shim- 
 mering in the warm sunshine. Close by is another gray -green 
 fountain, guarded by an armed warrior, and Marie's delight grows 
 at the sight of a group of merry children hand in hand dancing 
 round a woman who bends over the fountain while she fills her 
 buckets. 
 
 "Have a care there," she cries, " Lieschen, Aline, and you, Wil- 
 helm. The water will fill your shoes and spoil your Sunday clothes. 
 Have a care." 
 
 "Ah, the dear little children!" Marie cries ; but Madame Bobi- 
 neau will not stop ; she plods slowly on to the bridge. 
 
 "Come along, Marie; you must never loiter in the street, child," 
 she says, as Marie pauses again to look up the river. ' ' You were 
 loitering, no doubt, when Captain Loigerot spoke to you. Ah!" she 
 sighs; "well for you that you met with so honorable a gentleman!" 
 She shakes her head and frowns. 
 
 Marie laughs out. The sunshine and fresh air have completely 
 revived her spirits, and although when the old woman scolds her
 
 83 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 very much she is still strongly tempted to go back to the sisters, the 
 feeling does not last. She likes the consciousness of independence; 
 she is earning her own living while she remains with Madame Bobi- 
 neau, and it seems cowardly to give up in despair because an old 
 woman, who in other respects treats her fairly, has a trick of scold- 
 ing. 
 
 "Pardon me if I laugh, madame," she says, shyly, for she sees re- 
 buke in her cousin's face. ' ' A man cannot eat me up, as the ogre 
 on the fountain eats the children. Do not be afraid ; I am very 
 strong. I would not let any one steal my purse. And if any one 
 did steal it he would not find much in it," the clear young voice 
 goes on merrily. "Ah," she cries, "this is delightful! I thank you, 
 madame, for bringing me here." 
 
 She looks at her with sparkling eyes, for they have reached the 
 platform in front of the Bear Pit, and are standing under the shade 
 of the trees, among the chattering, merry groups who have come 
 all this way to see the bears of Berne. Men and women and a 
 crowd of little children loiter about the stalls near the pit. These 
 are covered with toys and knickknacks, soxivenirs de Berne in the 
 shape of small, carved, wooden tokens ; bears white and brown and 
 black, in all kinds of attitudes ; boxes and trays and inkstands and 
 Swiss chalets innumerable; dried Alpine flowers, and photographs 
 of the town and neighborhood. Beyond are tables on which heaps 
 of buns and carrots are exhibited; these are propitiatory offerings 
 for the shaggy idols in the dens below. 
 
 Marie cannot yet see the bears. It is early, and they have not 
 come out to greet their friends; the crowd, however, has nearly left 
 the stalls, and makes a thick hedge along the edge of the pit, so as 
 to screen it from sight. Marie is not anxious to see the bears; this 
 concourse of happy people and the gay stalls glittering in the sun- 
 shine make for her a spectacle she has never before enjoyed. 
 
 " Do but see, dear madame " — she pulls Madame Bobineau's shawl, 
 to make her stop — "do but look at the toy bears! Ah, the pretty 
 little beasts ! and I thought bears were huge, ugly monsters ! See! 
 here are white bears, and here are brown ones ; and oh ! here are 
 some that carry parasols, and some smoke pipes, and some — ah !" — 
 here she laughs again — "but these are droll beyond belief. Here 
 is a bear that teaches his little scholars. See them! there are eight, 
 and they sit on a bench, and he, the teacher, has spectacles ; and 
 oh, madame, here is a bear that paints, and his picture is the Lake
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 83 
 
 of Lucerne, my beloved lake!" slie claps her hands, and cries this 
 out joyfully. 
 
 " Chut!" says Madame Bobineau; "we shall have a crowd round 
 us, child. People will think you are a savage, Marie." 
 
 But Marie leaves off laughing. Her mood has suddenly changed. 
 Close beside her on the stall she sees some dried flowers; her lips 
 part in awful wonder, for she recognizes them ; they are edelweiss 
 blossoms, and she knows that they must have been gathered on the 
 heights of the snow mountains she so dearly loves. 
 
 " See, madame," she says, but her voice is now hushed and grave, 
 " these are the lovely snow-flowers. Is it not as if the snow itself 
 had budded into blossoms?" 
 
 Madame Bobineau turns quickly away. She thinks the girl will 
 follow her, but as Marie looks up from the edelweiss to the faces of 
 the people near her, she meets a pair of blue eyes fixed intently on 
 her own. Next moment the tall owner of these eyes turns away, 
 and when Marie reaches Madame Bobineau, she finds the same tall, 
 pleasant-looking stranger speaking to her old cousin. 
 
 "You did not see me just now, madame," he says. "Have you 
 come to have a look at the bears ? So have I. And this is your 
 cousin, is it not?" 
 
 Marie has been gazing at him; she thinks he is nicer than any 
 one she has seen in Berne, he is so tall and grand-looking. She feels 
 taken by surprise when he raises his hat and bows to her. 
 
 His fair hair is golden in the sunshine, and there is a happy, 
 peaceful look on his broad forehead and in his blue eyes, Marie 
 thinks. Though he is so very tall, she is not much afraid of him. 
 
 Madame Bobineau makes another courtesy. "I am your humble 
 servant, monsieur, and I thank you for your condescension. I wish 
 you good-day, monsieur." 
 
 She takes Marie's arm, and is proceeding to the farther side of 
 the Bear Pit. 
 
 "Pardon me"— Engemann places himself before her — "but it is 
 perhaps the first time that mademoiselle has seen the bears, and she 
 cannot see them so well from that side; the people feed them over 
 there" — he looks over his shoulder. "If you will allow me, ma- 
 dame, I will find a place for mademoiselle in the front." 
 
 He looks so kindly at Marie that she follows him; the crowd falls 
 away before his massive figure, and he soon finds a place for her in 
 front beside the low wall which circles round the edge of the huge 
 
 4
 
 84 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 den. Down below, a monstrous brown bear and a smaller black 
 one are walking on their liind-legs round the paved circuit of the 
 pit above which Marie stands. The bears are much too bulky to 
 climb the tall tree in the midst of the den, and the surface of the 
 wall round their prison is too smooth to offer any foothold, j'ct 
 Marie draws away shuddering. 
 
 " Don't be afraid," her companion says, kindly; "the bears can- 
 not reach you here, nor can they escape from their den. Look, 
 look, mademoiselle, that comical brown beast bows to you." 
 
 He laughs heartily, and as Marie listens she feels re-assured. She 
 has forgotten Madame Bobineau for the moment, and the old wom- 
 an is thankful that the crowd has made Marie invisible. Monsieur 
 Engemann's fair head towers above the rest, but it is impossible to 
 see his companion. 
 
 Madame Bobineau is in the friendly grasp of her old friend and 
 compatriot Monsieur Lenoir, the chief hair-dresser, and it must be 
 confessed the chief retailer of gossip, in Berne. 
 
 "This is indeed a pleasure," said Monsieur Lenoir, and he is po- 
 lite enough to add, "the pleasanter for being unexpected— eh, my 
 friend?" 
 
 Lenoir puts his head on one side, and his pointed chin digs into 
 his collar. He is a little dapper man, with an irresistible likeness 
 to a tomtit; his black eyebrows seem almost to encircle his eyes, 
 and he is always in movement. 
 
 "I should have remembered," he says, before Madame Bobineau's 
 answer is ready, ' ' it is for mademoiselle your cousin's sake. Yes, 
 3'es, it is like your kindness;" and now a twitter of complete satis- 
 faction goes through his restless body; the twitter has not far to go, 
 but it denotes intense enjoyment. "Now you will present me to 
 the charming cousin. There, there," silencing Madame Bobineau's 
 attempt at deprecation; "she is charming, I hear ; a little bird has 
 told me ;" he touches his left ear and looks inscrutable. 
 
 Madame Bobineau is on thorns. She longs to get rid of this Ar- 
 gus-eyed chatterer; however, unless he sees Marie and Monsieur 
 Engemann he cannot tell tales; and she begins to walk slowly to- 
 wards the outer fringe of the crowd in the hope of getting rid of him. 
 
 "Where do you say the cousin is?" says Lenoir. 
 
 Madame Bobineau offers a thanksgiving that he has never seen 
 Marie. "I do not know, "she says. "She left me a while ago. 
 You must come to the Red Glove and see her there."
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 85 
 
 She feels desperate. She knows his pertinacious curiosity too 
 well to dismiss him abruptly, and so she walks on beside him in a 
 tremor of fear lest Marie and Monsieur Engemann should appear 
 together. 
 
 Marie is growing re-assured; with such a powerful-looking pro- 
 tector she feels that it is childish to give way to terror. She tries 
 even to laugh at the unwieldy, awkward monster who stands with 
 one huge paw laid beseechingly on his hairy chest, leering up at 
 her out of his small red eyes. His shaggy hide is quivering with 
 excitement, and to all appearance he is laughing as he opens his 
 mouth, and begs. But Marie draws back again. Just now among 
 the fancy articles on the stalls she has seen prints representing a 
 man who, having fallen into the pit, is struggling for his life with 
 these bears. It seemed to the girl horrible to pet and play with 
 monsters who only wanted opportunity to repeat the cruel tragedy 
 that they had once enacted. 
 
 At this moment a woman beside her flung the brown bear a car- 
 rot; he caught it dexterously in his mouth, and crunched it amid 
 the loud plaudits of the spectators. A shower of carrots now fell 
 into the den, and everybody laughed at the fawning antics of the 
 bears. 
 
 But Marie could not enjoy the sight; the grotesque contrast be- 
 tween the comic gambols of these monsters and their repulsive sav- 
 age aspect was horrible to her. 
 
 "Mademoiselle does not care for the bears." Engemann had 
 been watching her serious face. 
 
 Marie felt ashamed. It seemed ungrateful not to be pleased with 
 the sight that this kind gentleman had been at the trouble of show- 
 ing her. She raised her eyes with a protest in them ; but her new 
 friend was not looking vexed. He was, on the contrary, smiling 
 in a way that soothed her. He looked satisfied with her, Marie 
 thought, as the Superior of St. Esprit used to look ; and besides 
 this, there was something in his smile that drew her liking out to 
 him in return. She felt trust in him, and at the same time a strong 
 hope that she should see his frank, manly face again. Strong feel- 
 ings were new to Marie. They had not been elicited among the 
 gentle sisters, who had never thwarted her, and who had by their 
 example taught her content with her daily lot; but this wish came 
 so naturally that the girl yielded to it without distrust: it was part 
 of the pleasure of this delightful afternoon.
 
 86 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 "Marie! Marie!" came shrilly from the back of the crowd. 
 
 Engemann recognized the voice of his landlady, and he pushed 
 on before Marie so as to open a passage for her. 
 
 They found Madame Bbbineau fluttered and frowning, but she 
 bestowed a smile on her lodger. 
 
 "You have been too kind and condescending, monsieur," she 
 said, quickly. "I am sure the child is greatly honored." Then, 
 with a nervous look round her, ' ' Thank monsieur for his goodness 
 to you, Marie, for we must be going." 
 
 Marie looked grave. She felt disappointed at this sudden col- 
 lapse of enjoyment. 
 
 " It is early yet, madame,"she began; and she looked up at the 
 blue sky, over which, however, a few snowy clouds showed like 
 fragments detached from the Blumlis Alp. 
 
 ' ' Yes, yes, I know that. You think of the weather, my girl. I, 
 on the contrary, think of my legs. There are no seats to be had 
 here; the place is too full. Come, we will go somewhere else." 
 She courtesied to Monsieur Engemann. "Adieu, monsieur," and 
 catching at Marie's arm, she walked away with her. 
 
 Monsieur Lenoir had left her to take a walk, he said, but Bobineau 
 trembled lest some other gossiping neighbors should see and report 
 to Madame Carouge, Monsieur Eugemann's attentions to Marie. 
 
 Marie murmured her thanks as she passed Monsieur Engemann. 
 She felt vexed with Madame Bobineau. 
 
 "I wanted to stay," she said. "There is one empty seat under 
 the trees, if you like to go back; I can stand." 
 
 Madame Bobineau hurried out of the enclosure. "No, no, child. 
 We ought to be going home." 
 
 "What is the name of that gentleman, madamc?" said Marie. 
 " lie has been very kind to me." 
 
 The old woman gave her a keen glance, but Marie's eyes looked 
 simple and unconscious. 
 
 "That is Monsieur Engemann, child. He is a grand gentleman. 
 You must treat him with great respect. He is going to marry the 
 beautiful lady who sent tlie cutlets to-day, Madame Carouge." 
 
 Marie felt surprised. "I thought you said Madame Carouge was 
 a widow, madame." 
 
 "Yes, she is a widow; but what of that? She is young and 
 handsome, and, besides — " She paused. Then, with a twinkle in 
 her eyes, she said, dryly: " She has what a young man like Mon-
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 87 
 
 sieur Engemann caros for more than for youth and beauty — she lias 
 plenty of money, all she can wish for, Marie. Ah!" she sighed and 
 smacked her colorless lips as if the thought were appetizing. Real- 
 ly she was thinking of the sweetbread with rich brown sauce and 
 cornet a la crhne set aside for supper when Marie should leave her 
 to her good-night. 
 
 The girl walked on silently. The day had lost some of its bright- 
 ness, she thought. This Monsieur Engemann could not really be as 
 nice as she had thought him, if he was going to marry a rich wife 
 for the sake of her money. She gave a little sigh as they walked 
 on beside the river. She had been wondering when she should see 
 him again. 
 
 All at once Madame Bobineau noticed her silence, and looking up 
 at her, she saw the flush that made the girl's pale cheeks glow like 
 a China rose under the long lashes that almost touched them. 
 
 " Yes, yes, little girl," the old woman said, "but for that I should 
 have gone after you." As if she could have made her way through 
 the throng! thought Marie. "I should not have let you go away 
 with a stranger, but I have known Monsieur Engemann for some 
 months." 
 
 "Ah!" Marie said. 
 
 They were following the path beside the river, under the poplars 
 that fringe the foot of the high green bank on which stand the 
 houses of Berne. Marie looked about her, and tried to admire 
 what she saw, but it seemed dull and flat to walk here alone with 
 Madame Bobineau. It had been so amusing in that merry chatter- 
 ing crowd by the Bear Pit, the girl thought it would be preferable 
 to go back into the town and stare into the shop-windows than to 
 saunter on here with her old cousin. Her holiday had made her 
 discontented. 
 
 After a while they came to a flight of stone steps in the side of 
 the steep green bank. Madame Bobineau gasped before she reached 
 the top of these, and clung heavily to Marie's arm. 
 
 "Ah, mnn Bieu! I do a great deal for you, Marie; but I never 
 shrink from a duty." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you," the girl said; " but we can sit 
 down here, and you can rest." 
 
 ' ' No, no ; I am tired, and we have still far to go. " 
 
 Madame Bobineau did not intend to take Marie past the Hotel 
 Beauregard; so instead of making for the main thoroughfare, she
 
 88 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 kept in back streets, and went even a little out of her way, till 
 finally they emerged under the arcades beside the Kafig Thurm. 
 
 Marie did not at first see how near they were to the Red Glove. 
 She looked round her, and backed against some one coming up the 
 street. 
 
 "A thousand pardons, mademoiselle." And there was Captain 
 Loigerot's bald crown shining as he bowed to her. "Aha, Madame 
 Bobineau! You have been showing mademoiselle the beauties of 
 Berne. That is right. " He rolled from one leg to the other. He 
 was thoroughly pleased by the sight of Marie, and at finding his 
 landlady so considerate. "Mademoiselle will tell me what she has 
 seen, I hope. Permit me, madame" — and he placed himself be- 
 tween the two ladies — "to have the honor of walking with you. 
 You have, perhaps, been to the Schanzli?" 
 
 " We have been to see the bears," Marie said. She liked the cap- 
 tain, but she felt inclined to laugh at his round, good-tempered face, 
 which looked always the same. 
 
 ' ' Aha ! you have seen the bears. That is right. They are clever 
 beasts. And did you like them, mademoiselle?" He looked up at 
 her admiringly. 
 
 " No, monsieur. I think they look cruel. I felt afraid. " 
 
 The captain smiled. " I wish I had been there to take care of 
 you." Then he turned to Madame Bobineau. "Did you meet 
 Engemaun there? He was going, for he asked me to accompany 
 him." 
 
 Madame Bobineau hesitated, but she felt that Marie was looking 
 at her across the captain. She was obliged to speak truly. ' ' Yes, 
 we saw him," she said. 
 
 The captain turned quickly to Marie; he felt a little sorry that he 
 had refused Engeraann's invitation. "I greatly wish I had been 
 of the party, mademoiselle. You should not have been afraid if I 
 had been with you." 
 
 "You are very kind, monsieur." This good-natured old man, as 
 Marie considered him, seemed quite an old acquaintance since her 
 meeting with the tall young Swiss. "And Monsieur Engemann 
 was very kind, too ; he made way for me to get to the front, so that 
 I might see the bears." 
 
 " Come, come, child," said Madame Bobineau; "what can you be 
 thinking of to keep the captain from his walk? Here we are at the 
 door. I pray you, monsieur, to excuse us for so detaining you."
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 89 
 
 The captain was looking pensive, but at this he rallied into a 
 broad smile. 
 
 "Good-evening, madame. Mademoiselle, I have the honor to say 
 farevpell — to our next meeting, madame and mademoiselle." 
 
 Madame Bobineau vpaits till his sturdy, widely-planted legs have 
 carried the captain some way up the street. Then she shakes her 
 head angrily at Marie. "Mischievous little chatterbox," she says, 
 "you have done harm that you cannot undo." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IN THE MIRROR. 
 
 Meantime Captain Loigerot had blinked and winked his eyes, 
 had chuckled and rolled from one side of the pavement to the other. 
 What mischief he had it in his power to make between the fair 
 widow and this lofty young fellow who seemed so careless about 
 his conquest ! 
 
 "I cannot make him out," the stout man thought, planting his 
 feet wider apart than ever. "Why is he so backward with her? 
 Is he cold, or afraid? In some ways it might help to bring things 
 to an upshot if I told tales. But no ; I prefer a quiet life, and she 
 would never forgive me. No, I'll not blab if I can help it." 
 
 At dinner-time Engemann was silent ; but as he went down-stairs 
 he fell into talk with Monsieur Riesen, who always dined at the 
 Beauregard on a Sunday. They were in full talk when they reached 
 the foot of the stairs, and passed out into the street together. But 
 the captain lingered behind them. He felt unusually chatty, and 
 as Engemann had deserted him, he thought he would go round to 
 Madame Carouge's window. He coughed, as a warning of his ap- 
 proach, and then glancing in, he saw her sitting on her sofa, with a 
 look of weariness on her beautiful face. 
 
 " Good - evening, madame," he said. "Have you been out this 
 bright day?" 
 
 She shook her head. " I was tired, monsieur." 
 
 The captain's shyness deserted him ; it seemed to him that, beauty 
 though she was, she was, after all, a young creature in want of ad- 
 vice, and he felt like a father towards her. He actually stood on 
 the threshold and looked her full in the face. " My dear lady," he
 
 90 AT TUE RED GLOVE. 
 
 said, "pardon me. How is it that I never see you enjoying your- 
 self abroad?" 
 
 Madame Carouge gave a languid smile. ' ' I have so few friends, 
 and it is dull to be alone in a crowd." 
 
 "Pardon me, madame; I am sure that Engemann" — she raised 
 her head proudly, and he hurried on — "or I should only be too 
 happy to be permitted to accompany you. Believe me, madame," 
 he held up his head and expanded his chest, "recreation is as nec- 
 essary as food is, and air and sunshine are as necessary as recrea- 
 tion is. Why, even old Madame Bobineau has taken holiday to- 
 day." 
 
 "Indeed!" Madame Carouge spoke lazily. She was mortified 
 by Engemann's avoidance. She wanted her visitor to understand 
 that his presence was undesired. " She took her little cousin out, 
 I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes ; she has been with her cousin to the Bear Pit — " Loi- 
 gerot stopped abruptly; it seemed to him that he had gone peril- 
 ously near the edge. But he would not blab ; he was resolved not 
 to blab. And yet the longer he thought of it, the more unnecessary 
 it seemed to him that Engemann should have paid attention in pub- 
 lic to a young girl like Marie, when he must surely be on the eve of 
 proposing for Madame Carouge — if, indeed, he was not her accepted 
 lover; for the captain fancied sometimes that the young fellow's 
 indifference was assumed. 
 
 " Did you escort them, monsieur?" the widow asked. "Ah! that 
 was kind of you." 
 
 The captain rolled from one leg to the other. He would not blab, 
 but he was too honest and humble-minded to accept praise he had 
 not earned. He was troubled, and looking up, he saw in the wid- 
 ow's fixed gaze that he had betrayed his uneasiness. 
 
 "No, madame, it was not I," he stammered, and looked at her 
 more boldly, his round red face full of alarm. 
 
 Madame Carouge returned his gaze fully. "They went alone, 
 then?" she said. 
 
 "Yes, madame." Then with an effort he went on: "Mademoi- 
 selle Marie she was afraid of the bears : she is— she is timid. Have 
 you seen her, madame! She is a charming girl." 
 
 " Is she?" Madame spoke dryly, and Loigerot felt that the only 
 thing left for him was to wish her good-evening and escape. It 
 seemed to him as if the floor was sinking under his feet as he stam-
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 91 
 
 mered out his farewell, and he hardly knew how he reached the 
 street. 
 
 "Man Dieu, Achille, you should mind your own business;" he 
 took out his handkerchief and wiped his perspiring face. "This is 
 what comes of mixing one's self up in the affairs of others. The 
 widow suspects; and a woman who suspects is the devil for finding 
 out. What do I know? She is perhaps capable of making old 
 Bobineau tell her the truth, and if she sees Marie, it will be all up 
 with Engcmann. Great heavens! I do not envy him." 
 
 The captain went home that evening utterly crestfallen. Even 
 the walk he had taken to smooth his ruffled spirits had proved a 
 failure. He had a consciousness that things were going wrong, and 
 that he was to blame. But for all that, when he had smoked his 
 last cigar, he went to bed and slept so soundly that Rudolf Enge- 
 mann, who slept overhead, had a fearful dream, in which an ava- 
 lanche came sweeping down on him, and he roused up in alarm to 
 find that the noise that had so disturbed him was created by the 
 snoring of Captain Loigerot. 
 
 Madame Carouge was less fortunate. She did not snore, but her 
 sleep was harassed by sad, tormenting dreams. Something in the 
 captain's manner had made her uneasy; it was too absurd a feeling 
 to confess, and she laughed and blushed as she told herself it would 
 never do to be jealous of a girl whom she had never seen, who was 
 perhaps a commonplace child ; besides, she had no proof that Mon- 
 sieur Engemann had seen the girl. Even if he had seen her, her 
 thoughts went on, she wronged him by this doubt. But she had 
 never found self-mastery so difficult. The thought seemed banished 
 — laughed at ; it was impossible it should return ; and then, all at 
 once, there it was, stronger than ever. At last she fell asleep, but 
 next morning her eyes looked heavy and she was paler than usual. 
 
 Sharp-eyed Lenoir, the hair-dresser, who came to her every morn- 
 ing as soon as she had drank her chocolate, saw at a glance that 
 something ailed her ; and while he combed out the long strands of 
 fine soft hair before he plaited it into the rich braids which gave her 
 head such an artistic finish, he pondered what could have happened 
 to disturb his fair customer. He had had the daily care of Madame 
 Carouge's hair ever since she came to the Hotel Beauregard, and he 
 was attached to the splendid wealth of tresses, and identified himself 
 with their beauty ; but his curiosity was his strongest passion, and 
 
 he would take any trouble to gratify it. 
 
 4*
 
 93 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 " Was madame out yesterday? It was a beautiful day." 
 
 "No." Madame Carouge always felt dreamy while her hair was 
 being dressed, and she was entirely unconscious of the keen watch 
 kept on her face as she sat before a long mirror in her bedroom. 
 
 "It was indeed beautiful. I never saw so many people out in all 
 directions. The bear platform was crowded." 
 
 Madame Carouge moved her head ever so little, and Lenoir's at- 
 tention was roused. He too had heard the gossip about the beauti- 
 ful widow and Monsieur Engemann. Tie did not approve of such 
 an idea, and he declined to believe in it; but there was nothing like 
 certainty. 
 
 " Really," she said; and then, unable to restrain herself, she asked 
 a question she wished unspoken as soon as it had passed her lips. 
 " Did you see any one at the Bear Pit you knew. Monsieur Lenoir?" 
 
 Before he answered she felt her face flush with shame at her own 
 want of dignity. Lenoir was feeling for hair-pins in the pocket of 
 his apron. 
 
 "Oh yes, madame " — he spoke indistinctly; for, let me tell you, it 
 is not so easy to converse when you have just put two hair-pins in 
 your mouth — "more than one — more than one." His attention was 
 a little disturbed, for he was creating a new arrangement in the knot 
 of plaits, and for the moment his art was all-absorbing. "A little 
 to the left, madame, if you please." Just then, as he contemplated, 
 with his head on one side, the new complication in profile, he dis- 
 cerned a subtle, anxious expression in the widow's beautiful eyes 
 which had looked to him so heavy. It was enough ; his curiosity 
 blazed into full flame, "Yes, madame" — he kept a devouring 
 watch on the glowing face in the glass, serenely triumphant in the 
 knowledge that it had no means of hiding its secret from him — " I 
 saw many friends yesterday; friends of yours too." He emphasized 
 the last words, and Madame Carouge looked up suddenly in the 
 glass before her. It was impossible to mistake the expression of the 
 sharp dark eyes she saw in the little face perked on one side. She 
 gave almost a sigh of self-congratulation, and sat motionless as if her 
 face had been carved in stone. Lenoir went on: "I saw Madame 
 Bobineau and a young girl — a pretty creature— a relation, she tells 
 me, who lias come to live with her." 
 
 " Ah, yes!" Madame Carouge spoke very languidly. 
 
 " I saw also Monsieur Engemann." Lenoir felt impatient of her 
 indifference. Even this announcement failed to produce any effect
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 93 
 
 on tlie beautiful still face. "He is certainly very kind; he was 
 taking charge of Madame Bobineau's cousin. I fancy the old wom- 
 an could not make her way through the crowd to the edge of the 
 pit." 
 
 "Probably not," said Madame Carouge. 
 
 Lenoir had grown desperate. He knew very well that he was in- 
 dispensable; even if he gave offence, he must try a last chance. "It 
 was a new character for Monsieur Engemann to assume. He does 
 not usually seem much of a lady's man. But then one can never 
 tell." 
 
 He had shot his last arrow, and without result. The only change 
 in Madame Carouge's face was that she looked bored, and now she 
 put one shapely hand to her lips to hide a yawn. 
 
 Lenoir brought down his eyebrows into a frown that made him 
 look spiteful. He drew the peignoir from madame's shoulders, 
 folded it, and then rolled up his apron. " I have the honor to wish 
 madame a good-morning," he said. 
 
 "Good-morning," said Madame Carouge. 
 
 He felt so angry that he made a grimace as he went down-stairs. 
 
 CHAPTER Xm. 
 
 A PAIR OF GLOVES. 
 
 Rudolf Engemann had been awakened during the night by the 
 supposed avalanche, but his morning dreams must have been pleas- 
 sant, for when he opened his eyes it seemed to him that the sunshine 
 ought to have streamed in at his windows to match the bright fresh- 
 ness of his feelings. He did not trouble himself to inquire whence 
 the feeling pame, but he was sensible of a new and pleasant antici- 
 pation. Life had suddenly opened itself at a page which suggested 
 other pages of interest beyond it. The puzzled vexation of the past 
 week had fled; he felt once more simple and self-possessed; and he 
 told himself that if there were time, he would stop and have a few 
 minutes' talk with Madame Carouge before he went to the bank this 
 morning. 
 
 It was hardly in pursuance of this end, however, that he turned 
 back from the house door and looked in at the shop-wiadow of the 
 Red Glove.
 
 94 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Marie was there alone. She had evidently been dusting the coun- 
 ter, for a feather brush lay on it, and she was giving the last touches 
 to a tasteful display of embroidery in the farthest window. 
 
 " I believe I want a pair of gloves," he thought, as he pushed the 
 shop door open. 
 
 Marie went back to her place behind the counter. She smiled and 
 blushed when Monsieur Engemann bowed to her ; then she glanced 
 to the gi-een-curtained window and saw that Madame Bobineau was 
 not at her post of observation. 
 
 Engemann thought, as he looked at Marie, she was much prettier 
 without her hat, her head was so well placed, and her hair was so 
 bright it looked as if it glowed with imprisoned sunshine. There 
 was such an indescribable atmosphere of youth and freshness about 
 her that at once she became part of the joy that had awakened with 
 him, and he felt very happy. 
 
 "Can I do anything for monsieur?" Marie gave him a grateful 
 glance ; she had been thinking ever since yesterday of his kindness. 
 
 "Yes, if you please, mademoiselle ; I want some gloves." 
 
 "What kind of gloves does monsieur wish for," said Marie, de- 
 murely — "dark gloves or light gloves?" 
 
 Rudolf Engemann was not ready-witted, and he had not prepared 
 himself for this question; he looked into Marie's soft gray eyes with 
 so bewildered a gaze that she smiled. He reddened a little. 
 
 "It does not signify — any sort," he said, hurriedly; and indeed 
 this was the truth. He was aware that he did not want gloves ; he 
 only wanted a pretext for talking to Marie. 
 
 The answer chimed in with the girl's gay humor; it sounded so 
 absurd that she began to laugh while she placed a box of gloves be- 
 fore him. Then, meeting his eyes, she remembered Madame Bobi- 
 neau's warning against laughter, and grew grave in an instant. 
 Somehow the little flush that had come with her repressed look en- 
 couraged Engemann. 
 
 " Something amuses mademoiselle." 
 
 Marie bent down her head, ashamed, and Engemann affected to 
 look round the shop. "There is nothing else," he said, as if to 
 himself ; "it must be I, then, who have caused mademoiselle amuse- 
 ment." 
 
 Marie felt compelled to raise her eyes to the gaze so strongly fixed 
 on hers. 
 
 "I beg monsieur's pardon."
 
 AT TUE EED GLOVE. 95 
 
 She said it so penitently, and looked so winning in bcr humility, 
 that Engemann felt his enjoyment deepen; it seemed as if all kinds 
 of possibilities lay before him in the way of pleasant talks with this 
 stranger; he was as gay as a butterfly in the fresh young sympathy 
 that had so quickly established itself between them ; it might have 
 existed for years, it was so secure. He did not trouble himself to 
 analyze his feelings; he simply enjoyed them, and felt purified and 
 freshened into a more spring-like mood. 
 
 All this time the two young creatures had been studying each 
 other's eyes. Marie looked back to the gloves ; the flush on her face 
 had grown deeper; her manner was a little hurried. 
 
 " Does monsieur like these" — she held up a pair of yellow-brown 
 gloves — "if they are the right size?" 
 
 She darted a glance towards the green curtain. She knew that she 
 was not fulfilling her instructions. 
 
 " Mafoi," said Engemann, "I — I"— he looked at his large hand 
 and then at Marie — "I am not sure about my size." 
 
 He wanted her to measure the glove acrass his knuckles ; but some- 
 thing, in spite of her little burst of laughter, kept him in check. He 
 did not know it, but there was a helpless, appealing look in his blue 
 eyes that touched and amused Marie ; it gave her confidence to think 
 that she could be of use to this tall gentleman. 
 
 "Allow me," she said, gravely; her hands trembled a little, but 
 she measured the glove across his knuckles with a dainty grace ; her 
 •soft, warm fingers gave him an exquisite thrill of pleasure ; it seemed 
 to him that she was absolutely fascinating. 
 
 " Shall I stretch them, monsieur?" 
 
 " If you please, mademoiselle." 
 
 He wished her to do anything which might prolong this pleasant 
 time. He stood looking at Marie with delight while she was ma- 
 nipulating the pretty little pair of stretchers with which Madame Bo- 
 bineau had intrusted her. 
 
 Marie knew that he was looking at her. She was not quite sure 
 whether she ought to like his admiration, but she felt that she did 
 like it; her heart began to beat in a most unusual fashion. She was 
 putting the gloves in paper, when a bright idea came to Engemann 
 — he saw an easy way of prolonging this delightful time. 
 
 "I will have another pair of gloves — not this kind— lighter ones, 
 if you please." 
 
 He thought that if he chose the gloves out of the same packet,
 
 96 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Marie might consider the fit certain, and he should lose the pleasure 
 of having them measured. He had no use that he knew of for light 
 gloves, and certaialy he had no superfluous money to spend on them. 
 But while Marie carefully replaced the box out of which he had 
 made his first purchase, and took down another box from the high 
 shelf behind her, it occurred to him that it might be proper to wear 
 light gloves when he went to Thun with Madame Carouge. 
 
 "Which color does monsieur prefer?" Marie was trying to re- 
 member her lesson. 
 
 " It does not signify," said Rudolf. "I will leave it to mademoi- 
 selle to choose them for me. She knows more about gloves than I." 
 He smiled at her. 
 
 Marie laughed. "No, monsieur, I have never worn gloves. I have 
 lived among sisters, and they do not wear them." 
 
 "But you will wear them now," he said. 
 
 " Yes, perhaps;" here she looked a little grave, and opening two 
 packets she spread before him a heap of delicate shades of color — 
 pink and primrose and lavender. 
 
 "They are very pretty," he said, looking at her more than at the 
 gloves. 
 
 Marie wondered whether she should ever possess anything so 
 dainty. 
 
 " These are pretty;" she drew a pair of pale citron-color from the 
 heap. " I think these will do— if monsieur will permit me." 
 
 Engemann put out his hand only a little. She looked so pretty 
 bending forward, and he knew she must do it to measure across his 
 hand. 
 
 " Ah!" he said, as she finished, "I fear they may be a Uttle. short. 
 Will mademoiselle measure the fingers?" 
 
 Marie had not practised this art, and she had to do it twice before 
 she succeeded, for at first she put the thumb-tip to his finger-tips, 
 and vice versa. She looked up smiling at Engemann. 
 
 "Pardon, monsieur," she said, and then she felt a little vexed, for 
 something in the glance she had met made her heart beat fast, and 
 her fingers become suddenly limp and awkward. 
 
 Engemann, too, was silent; he wished Marie would raise her eyes 
 to his. 
 
 And while the girl stood in this disturbed, nervous condition, 
 there came, grating harshly into the soft silence that had followed 
 her la§t glance, the voice of Madame Bobineau,
 
 I 
 
 THERE WAS A HELPLESS, APPEALING LOOK IN HIS BLUE EYES.
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 99 
 
 ' ' Good-morning, Monsieur Engemann, " it said. ' ' I Lope you have 
 found what you want. " 
 
 Engemann felt a little foolish, and he turned a solemn face to 
 his landlady. He was vexed, too, that the pleasant time was 
 over. 
 
 " Yes, thank you, madame;" and then it occurred to him that Ma- 
 dame Bobineau's arrival was in a way opportune; it had removed 
 from him the necessity of paying Marie for the gloves; this would 
 have been disagreeable. 
 
 " Monsieur will, then, have this pair also?" 
 
 Marie held up the citron-colored gloves. She, too, had looked at 
 Madame Bobineau, and she saw that though the old woman had 
 smiled at the customer, she had next minute given a reproving glance 
 in her direction; she felt that she could not bear to be scolded be- 
 fore her new friend. She folded the gloves, and after putting them 
 in paper, she placed them on madame's desk, and then began care- 
 fully to set in order and put away the delicately tinted heap which 
 she had scattered on the counter for Rudolf's choice. 
 
 Monsieur Engemann went to the desk and paid for his purchase ; 
 he wished Madame Bobineau good-morning; then he came back to 
 the counter. 
 
 ' ' Good-morning, Madenjoiselle Marie, " he said. " 1 thank you for 
 your kindness." 
 
 He wished to shake hands, but he felt that Madame Bobineau 
 might object to this. 
 
 The old woman came forward and opened the door. She stood 
 looking down the street after her lodger. She was very angry, and 
 yet it was difficult to find a scape-goat to bear her wrath. Marie had 
 succeeded in selling two pairs of gloves to a man who rarely bought 
 anything in the shop ; it would be both unjust and impolitic to scold 
 Marie, and yet her wrath burned fiercely. 
 
 " That young man will be Jate at the bank, " she muttered. " Such 
 a time of day to choose for buying gloves! You must not expect 
 every one to thank you, Marie," she said, sharply, "Monsieur 
 Engemann is a grand gentleman, but he is young, and, besides, he is 
 not much in the habit of buying gloves." 
 
 Almost as she spoke ]VIadame Bobineau felt that she had made an 
 unwise admission. 
 
 Marie expected a lecture; she had grown accustomed to unde- 
 SCTved scoldings; it seemed to her that each time she ht^d spoken to
 
 100 AT THE EED GLOVE. 
 
 a gentleman she had evoked a storm, and now, relieved at being let 
 off so easily, she laughed and clapped her hands gayly. 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad," she said — "so glad he bought them of me! 
 I like him so much— oh, so very much!" 
 
 "Chut! nonsense! Like, indeed! How often, then, must I ask 
 you, child, to have a little common-sense? You are not wanted to 
 like the customers. Do you suppose that customers think about 
 you? Do you think a gentleman like Monsieur Engemann notices 
 the difference between one shop-girl and another ?" 
 
 Till to-day Marie had tried to remember the Superior's advice, 
 and although she had inwardly rebelled, she had taken her scoldings in 
 silence ; but to-day her tongue seemed to move without her guidance. 
 
 " I am sure he does," she said. 
 
 Madame Bobineau looked at her, but Marie met her angry eyes 
 fearlessly; a bright spot of red burned in each cheek, but there was 
 a confidence in her manner that was almost triumphant. She felt 
 that she was no longer friendless in Berne. 
 
 Madame Bobineau only understood one side of human nature — its 
 weakness and its double motives — and she at once assumed that harm 
 lurked in the girl's courage. 
 
 "You are as vain as you are silly," she said, "and I am afraid you 
 are not fit to stand behind a counter; I am afraid you stare at gen- 
 tlemen, Marie, and try to be admired. I wonder what the sisters 
 would think of you?" Then seeing that the girl still smfted, " You 
 little fool, do you suppose men are what they seem? Why, at this 
 very moment, if he thinks of you at all, Monsieur Engemann is turn- 
 ing you into ridicule with his fellow-clerks; or, if he ventures to men- 
 tion such a subject to her, he is perhaps telling Madame Carouge 
 what a vain little puss I am plagued with as shop-girl." 
 
 Marie stood leaning against the counter. As she listened she 
 grew rosy, the rich color glowed through her fair hair, and when the 
 old woman spoke of INIadame Carouge, scorching, angry tears fell 
 sparkling on her hot face. 
 
 "I do not believe it; he is not double-faced. He is good — I am 
 sure he is; he would not do. such false, mean things." And then, 
 overmastered by the sudden fear the old woman's words had called 
 up, she flung her arms on the counter, and burying her face in them, 
 she sobbed loudly. 
 
 Madame Bobineau had relieved her temper, and now her sense of 
 propriety came to Marie's help.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 101 
 
 "Great heavens, child! how can you be so violent! Nicely the 
 sisters have trained you, I must say! Have done, will you?" But 
 the sobs went on vehemently. " There, there, child; I did not say 
 it was so; I said perhaps; for, as you say, IMonsieur Engemann is 
 good and kind. I only mean to warn you, Marie, to show you to 
 what your vanity exposes you. Come, come ;" she patted her 
 shoulder. "A customer will arrive and find you sobbing. Come, 
 come, child ; if you must cry, go into my room, and I will mind the 
 shop till you come to your senses." 
 
 ]\Iarie seemed to feel the force of this appeal. She tried to check 
 her sobs, and lifting up her swollen, tear-stained face, she went slow- 
 ly into the little room, and shut the green-curtained door behind her. 
 Then she dropped into Madame Bobineau's easy-chair, and hid her 
 shame-stricken face. Her sobs had ceased ; she was alarmed at the 
 tumult which had broken out in her. 
 
 " What would the sisters say to me? They would not know 
 their little Marie; they would not believe I could be so wicked and 
 passionate — and yet it is true." 
 
 She got up and went to the little dingy mirror at which Madame 
 Bobineau smoothed her hair before she went into the shop. Marie 
 gazed mournfully at her own reflection. Certainly she did not look 
 like the Marie who had just now laughed so merril}'; her eyes were 
 glazed with tears, and her lips were swelled and pouting. 
 
 "Yes, I am changed. I look cross and horrid; and if I stay here 
 I shall grow wicked. I can't like Madame Bobineau; directly I 
 begin to, she says something cruel, and makes me feel stung all over. 
 And oh! I do hate Madame Carouge. . . . What would the dear 
 Mother say if I told her that? But I will go back and tell her 
 everything. 1 shall soon forget that I ever came to Berne." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 UNEXPECTED EST ALL WAYS. 
 
 Dinner was just over at the Red Glove. Marie had gone back 
 to her place behind the counter, and Madame Bobineau had returned 
 to the little room behind the shop. After pulling the curtain across 
 her spy-window and bolting the door, she had just taken from a 
 little cupboard the remains of her last night's supper — a cornet of 
 pastry filled with whipped cream.
 
 102 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 She had had a sleepless night pondering what might come of the 
 unlucky meeting with Monsieur Engemann and of Marie's indiscreet 
 revelations to Captain Loigerot. She had not by any means for- 
 given Marie, and had scarcely spoken to her; and now, as she greedi- 
 ly crammed the cream into her toothless mouth, she sadly wondered 
 if it would be the last dainty she should receive from Madame Ca- 
 rouge. 
 
 A knock at the private door made her start and almost choke. 
 She got up, spluttering and coughing. The sound was most un- 
 usual; her lodgers knew that they had only to turn the door-handle 
 to let themselves in, and they never had visitors; their letters and 
 parcels were delivered in the shop; and, besides, parcels would not 
 come with an authoritative knock like the one just given. 
 
 By this time she stood at the door, and turning the handle she 
 opened it. 
 
 There stood before her a vision that made her totter so that she 
 leaned against the wall for support. 
 
 It was Madame Carouge, pale and grave, but looking beautiful as 
 ever, in a charming little bonnet. She was, of course, in black, a 
 rich lace scarf carelessly draped around her graceful shoulders. 
 
 She went forward into the dark entrance without waiting to be 
 invited, her beauty and the costly silk and lace about her in incon- 
 gruous contrast with the mean surroundings. It was as if a grace- 
 ful swan were to sail proudly along some muddy ditch by the road- 
 side. 
 
 But Madame Bobineau's wits quickly came back to her. 
 
 •' This is indeed an honor, madame," she said. 
 
 She hurried after her guest, and she pushed wide open the door of 
 her little sitting-room. "Mbn Dieu/" she said to herself ," what a 
 mercy that I had eaten up the pastry!" 
 
 There was the empty plate on the table, but the room was per- 
 fectly neat. 
 
 "Ah! madame, this condescension is adorable." She drew for- 
 ward her one easy-chair. " If I had only known I was to have the 
 pleasure of this visit, I would have been prepared." 
 
 She kept her keen eyes fixed on her visitor, and she saw that al- 
 though Madame Carouge smiled, there was a constraint in her man- 
 ner she was not accustomed to see there. 
 
 "This visit is not to you, Madame Bobineau; I come to see your 
 cousin. I am interested in her." Her full upper lip curved with
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 103 
 
 scorn at the alann that showed for an instant in the old woman's 
 face. " Shall we go into the shop, or will mademoiselle come to me 
 here?" she said, politely. 
 
 Madame Bobineau put up her hand in deprecation. "I will go 
 and fetch her," she said; " she shall come directly if she is not serv- 
 ing." 
 
 "And if she is, you can take her place," the beautiful woman said. 
 She looked round the mean room with repugnance rather than with 
 pity. She had only called once before on Madame Bobineau, and 
 then she had seen her in the shop. The pinched, bare aspect of the 
 place vexed her; it took her back to the time when she, too, and her 
 mother were alarmed at the rare advent of a visitor, and suffered 
 shame afterwards at having been seen in their shabby every-day 
 gowns. 
 
 But in a moment or so IMadame Carouge unbent her brows and 
 smiled at her own disturbance. She wondered — as if she were some 
 one else — why this fresh idea should have dawned on the trouble 
 she had been struggling with ever since last night — a trouble which 
 in morning light she had told herself was a folly ; and then had 
 come Lenoir's story confirming the warning her fears had given. 
 While she sat listening statue-like before her glass, Madame Carouge 
 had told herself that the only way to end such a folly was to up- 
 root it. 
 
 She did not doubt Rudolf Engemann. It was an insult to him to 
 suppose his love so light that a chance meeting with another woman 
 could turn it away from her. While Captain Loigerot had spoken 
 of Marie, an idea had come to her, and she resolved, if possible, to 
 act upon it. 
 
 "Possible!" — she smiled at herself — "do not I know what young 
 girls are like? they want liberty and ease and as much pleasure as 
 money can give them ; and a girl who has been brought up in a con- 
 vent will have fewer desires than I had ; she will consider me a 
 benefactress." 
 
 Still, the expression on her face was not that of perfect content as 
 she sat looking at the glass door. It was, however, the other door 
 that opened, and Madame Bobineau came in, followed by Marie. 
 
 The girl was impressed at first sight by the grand-looking lady 
 sitting opposite her. Madame Carouge half rose, bent her head 
 slightly in acknowledgment of the girl's deferential bow, and then 
 they looked at each other.
 
 104 AT THE BED GLOVE. 
 
 There was a striking contrast between them. Marie's cream-white 
 skin, with the faintest tinge stealing into her cheeks, was like a pale 
 Malmaison rose, while the rich color that spread over Madame Ca- 
 rouge's golden complexion at sight of so much beauty likened her 
 to the flame tint of a pomegranate blossom. 
 
 There was no contrast in the feelings of these two well - grown 
 women — each felt an instinctive dislike to the other. It manifested 
 itself, however, in different ways. 
 
 Marie felt at once oppressed and ill at ease. She hung her head 
 and became self-conscious and awkward, standing there under the 
 gaze of those brilliant eyes, and she longed to go back to the shop. 
 
 Madame Carouge forced a smile, and strove to be extra gracious. 
 
 "I hope you like Berne, mademoiselle, and that you wish to re- 
 main here. It is a charming town, is it not?" 
 
 Her courteous yet patronizing tone made Marie feel very far off 
 indeed from her questioner. 
 
 "Yes, madame, it is a very beautiful town." 
 
 Madame Carouge smiled again. She saw that the girl was not 
 fascinated by her, and that it was necessary to be friendly with her. 
 
 "Dear Madame Bobineau," she said, "we must all try to make 
 Berne as pleasant as possible to your little cousin. Will you bring 
 her to see me to-morrow evening — there will be only a few old 
 friends. I hope mademoiselle will give me the pleasure of includ- 
 ing her among them." 
 
 It was so pleasantly said, in that soft, mellow voice, that Marie 
 melted. 
 
 " Thank you, madame, you are very kind;" then she remembered 
 that she had only the brown linen gown she had worn yesterday. 
 She looked helplessly at Madame Bobineau; the old woman was 
 looking inquisitively at Madame Carouge ; she had no belief in 
 this sudden kindness to Marie. She was puzzled and taken by 
 surprise; but if the widow had asked her just then to go up in a 
 balloon, she would have consented. 
 
 "Madame is indeed kind — kindness itself. You must excuse 
 Marie, madame. She is thinking about her dress, I fancy. You 
 had better go back to the shop, child," she said to Marie. " I know 
 madame will excuse you." 
 
 Madame Carouge held out her hand. "I will say aurevoir, 
 mademoiselle, till to-morrow. We will say eight o'clock, if you 
 please."
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE, 105 
 
 Marie put her cold liand into the widow's elegantly gloved one, 
 and disappeared through the curtained entrance with a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 Madame Bobincau was bursting with curiosity, but her visitor 
 left off smiling. Her beautiful eyes were terribly angry as they , 
 looked straight at the old woman. Madame Bobineau actually 
 crouched under this mute rebuke, and sat huddled in her chair. 
 
 " You wished to give me a surprise, I suppose. You must know 
 as well as I, Madame Bobineau, that the girl is very handsome— 
 that she is not fit to be in such a shop as yours is for a day. What 
 can you be thinking of?" 
 
 Her voice was no longer mellow ; it struck sharp and ringing on 
 the reddened cars of her companion. The old woman pressed her 
 dark, skinny hands together. 
 
 "What can I do?" she said, abjectly. "What can a poor old 
 woman like me do? How can I help the child's looks? If madame 
 will only have the goodness to advise." 
 
 "I did advise you, and instead of keeping the girl quiet and out of 
 sight till I had found a husband for her, you have, I hear, been tak- 
 ing her into public, and allowing her to walk about with young men. 
 Mon Bieu, Madame Bobineau, you are not fit to guide a young girl." 
 
 It was surprising to see how her beautiful face cleared when she 
 had poured out her wrath in this pelting fashion ; she had somewhat 
 got rid of, in words, the vexation which oppressed her. She thought 
 that the old woman deserved to suffer for her ingratitude to her. 
 
 Madame Bobineau pulled out a snuffy pocket-handkerchief and 
 hid her face behind it. 
 
 "Oh! is it not too hard," she said, " that gossips should tell tales, 
 and try to rob a poor old woman of one of the few friends she pos- 
 sesses? Indeed, madame" — she gave a sob — "I thought I was do- 
 ing a Christian duty in giving the child amusement in taking her to 
 see the bears, and when we met Monsieur Engemann I pretended 
 not to see him, and turned away to avoid him. How could he or I 
 help it, madame, when that little forward chit asked him to put her 
 in front that she might see better?" 
 
 Madame Carouge sat silent, her eyes fixed on the ground, whilo 
 the old woman kept dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. 
 
 "If she is so forward," she said at last, very gravely, "I am 
 afraid it will not do to propose her to Captain Loigerot. A man 
 of his years will require very circumspect behavior in his wife."
 
 lOG AT TUE EED GLOVE. 
 
 " Captain Loigerot! Do you consider him a man likely to mar- 
 ry, my dear lady? Ah, what a charming bonnet you have on, to be 
 sure! No need to ask if it comes from Paris." 
 
 But Madame Carouge would not unbend. Her voice continued 
 to have a dry, sarcastic tone in it to which her listener was unaccus- 
 tomed. 
 
 " Monsieur Loigerot has asked me to find him a wife, and he is 
 certain to accept the person I propose to him. Of course, if you 
 have other plans for the girl — " She rose from her seat and looked 
 at the old woman. 
 
 Madame Bobineau's face did not show the willingness she ex- 
 pected. She hesitated ; she was not sure that she was willing. 
 Captain Loigerot's money paid the rent of her house, and he was 
 always satisfied. If he took Marie away, she should lose him as a 
 lodger, and she should have to pay a shop-girl. On the other hand, 
 she should not have to make a provision for Marie. This last con- 
 sideration had; however, little weight. Madame Bobineau could no 
 more help hoarding than she could help breathing, and she knew 
 that Marie was already provided for by the savings she had accu- 
 mulated. Of necessity she must leave those savings behind her, 
 but she would not yield up a centime of them towards a marriage- 
 portion ; the very thought made her hair rise on her forehead. But 
 it was urgent not to ofiiend the widow. She rose when Madame 
 Carouge did. 
 
 "Did I not say I would follow your advice, my dear, kind friend? 
 If you will only have the goodness to sit down again, I will tell you 
 what I think. I am only a poor, stupid old woman, and such a 
 grand proposal as this takes my wits away. " 
 
 " No, you are not stupid, Madame Bobineau, and you must see 
 the advantage of such a marriage for Marie. Listen," she went on, 
 impatiently. ' ' The captain has a house and a field, two chestnut 
 woods, an olive grove, and he has money enough to live on besides 
 these sources of income." 
 
 Madame Bobineau's eyes glittered, and she licked her lips in a 
 stealthy fashion; then she took a huge pinch of snuff. 
 
 "He is some years too old for Marie, is he not, madame?" she 
 said. 
 
 "Great heavens!" — Madame Carouge tapped the floor with her 
 foot — "if people suit in other ways, what can age signify? An old 
 husband often makes a girl happier than a young one does; he is
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 107 
 
 more easily satisfied. But I forgot myself " — she looked fixedly at 
 Madame Bobineaxi's shifting, bead-like eyes—" if the girl is forward, 
 I cannot advise Monsieur Loigerot to marry her. I am sorry, for 
 indeed I felt I was doing you a good turn." 
 
 Madame Bobineau shook her hands in desperation. " You mis- 
 took me, madame," she said; "I only meant that the girl should 
 have waited her turn. No, indeed, she is not bold. Did I not tell 
 you she refused to measure those gentlemen for the size of their 
 gloves. No, no ; that cannot be brought against her. But, madame, 
 my fear is that a gentleman in the position of Captain Loigerot will 
 require a marriage-portion. " 
 
 The widow stood thinking; her impatient look had faded into 
 melancholy. "I will see about that," she said; "I will talk to the 
 captain this evening, and propose the matter to him. I can then 
 present him formally to you and to Mademoiselle Marie to-morrow 
 evening. You had better not speak to the girl beforehand; let the 
 captain plead for himself." She smiled faintly. "Now I wish you 
 good-day." 
 
 "Yes, madame." 
 
 She affected not to see Madame Bobineau's offered hand. With a 
 graceful nod, she gathered her lace scarf round her, and walked 
 down the dingy passage into the arcaded street. " That is settled," 
 she said, and her beautiful face looked serene again. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE widow's proposal. 
 
 Captain Loigerot had felt dull when he waked that morning. 
 There was a weight on his spirits, and he soon became aware that 
 it was caused by the remembrance of last night's indiscretion. 
 
 "Why in Heaven's name did I go and chatter to Madame Ca- 
 rouge? I might have known that it is never safe to venture too near 
 the edge of anything. See, friend Achille, what foolhardiness has 
 led you into. . . .That widow's eyes blazed up like a torch, and then 
 I knew that I looked like a fool, and I who all these years have kept 
 clear of any quarrel. Who knows what she may not say to Enge- 
 manu? I'll swear she made a guess at the truth. A woman like 
 that is the devil."
 
 108 AT TUE RED GLOVE. 
 
 He went every morning to be shaved by Monsieur Lenoir; usual- 
 ly he enjoyed the bright talk of the little bird-like hair-dresser, who 
 had a way of hopping from one subject to another in a brisk, airy 
 way that carried out tlie likeness his face suggested. But to-day 
 Lenoir's talk, instead of weighing so lightly that Loigerot had for- 
 gotten it by the time he had finished his cigar, hung upon his listen- 
 er like a bag of heavy stones which he was forced to carry away 
 with him, for Lenoir had repeated the substance of his morning in- 
 terview with Madame Carouge, and feeling angry at the balk she 
 had administered to his curiosity, the little hair-dresser described 
 her evident vexation with much exaggeration, and declared that 
 there was no hope that she would forgive Rudolf Engemann. 
 
 "Serve him right, too. I always said that he had no serious in- 
 tentions; he is too young, and — and uninformed to be the husband 
 of such a woman." 
 
 And the captain had answered, sighing, "Yes, yes, there is no one 
 in Berne who is worthy of her; but I hope she will forgive Enge- 
 mann." 
 
 Lenoir stopped in the act of stropping the razor with which he 
 had been shaving. 
 
 "Ma foi, monsieur " — he drew up his little body — " JMadame Ca- 
 rouge need not have gone far to find a suitable husband; but for 
 my part I do not believe she had any attachment to this silent young 
 giant. Women are weak enough to admire carcas s " — he put his 
 head on one side and stuck out his peaked chin. ' ' What else, I 
 ask you, could have persuaded a comely woman like Madame 
 Riesen, with a head of gray hair such as you seldom see, to take up 
 with that rawboned, cadaverous, bald-headed" — he caught sight of 
 Loigerot's astonished face and checked himself. " You understand, 
 monsieur, I speak of the outside only. Monsieur Riesen is my very 
 good friend and customer — so far, at least, as a man can be called a 
 customer who wears a mass of gray stubble which he calls a beard. 
 Good day, monsieur." 
 
 This was in answer to the captain's farewell. Loigerot wanted 
 to get away from the splenetic hair - dresser, whom he was accus- 
 tomed to consider as gay as a butterfly, but who was to-day as 
 stinging as a wasp. 
 
 " His digestion is out of order; there is perhaps something amiss 
 with the weather," the captain said, "and it disturbs Lenoir as it 
 disturbed me."
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 109 
 
 After breakfast the captain took a long walk, his usual panacea 
 when anything had gone amiss with him, and he came back much 
 more cheerful than he had started. He kept away from Berne as 
 long as he could ; he did not want to see Rudolf, or Madame Bobi- 
 neau, or even Marie ; any one of the three would remind him of the 
 vexation that might still be reserved for him in the shape of a quar- 
 rel between the widow and her young admirer ; he felt, too, that 
 Engemann had shown unnecessary attention to Marie, for Lenoir 
 had watched the young couple, and had dwelt at length on the ani- 
 mated nature of their conversation. 
 
 "Still, that might not have been Engemann's fault," the good- 
 natured man thought. "Marie, I believe, is always animated. I'll 
 be bound, when she gets at her ease, she can be as frisky as a young 
 Iamb." 
 
 This last was a pleasanter reflection, and it helped to keep up his 
 spirits through the dinner at the Beauregard till the end of the first 
 course. 
 
 As Moritz handed him a dish of stewed peaches, he whispered 
 that madame wished to have the pleasure of a few minutes' talk 
 when monsieur should be quite disengaged. Loigerot lost his ap- 
 petite at once; his indiscretion came back vividly, and he felt sure 
 he was going to be mixed up in the quarrel. 
 
 "Women are the devil," he said again, "and I certainly knew 
 that long ago." He left the table before the others, and hurried 
 down-stairs. 
 
 Madame Carouge received him very graciously. Then, after a 
 few words of course, she said, "Monsieur" — she gave him the rare, 
 sweet smile which so fascinated Rudolf Engemann — "some time 
 ago you honored me with a confidence. You said if I could find 
 you a suitable wife you would like to marry." 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 But though Loigerot spoke politely, there was no alacrity in his 
 tone. Since he had seen Marie the idea of the "suitable" wife 
 had lost its interest for him, had become a something for which he 
 could wait another year or so. It would be much pleasanter mean- 
 while to walk and talk with this bright girl who had at present 
 eclipsed, in his estimation, the prettiest nurse-maids on the Mlinster 
 Platz. 
 
 Madame Carouge saw that he was indifferent, but she had not 
 time to indulge in questioning. She went on, calmly, 
 
 5
 
 110 AT TUE KED GLOVE. 
 
 "I have not forgotten your wish, monsieur, though it is possible 
 I may have seemed to you slow and neglectful." 
 
 "Ah, madame — " 
 
 But the widow went on : "I rejoice to tell you I have found some 
 one to whom I think only one objection can be made; she has no 
 marriage-portion. " 
 
 The captain was a liberal soul ; he had not expected money with 
 a wife ; but as he had changed his mind about marriage, this objec- 
 tion seemed to offer him deliverance from the widow's proposal. 
 
 "Well, madame " — he cleared his throat— " it is desirable that she 
 should not be without a portion. I have a little property, it is true, 
 and I hope by economy to increase its value; but, on the other hand, 
 I might die soon after marriage, and then a lady who has been used 
 to her comforts, and so on, would be in a better position if she had 
 also some money of her own, and — and " — puffing out his cheeks — 
 "in short, she might have more than herself to provide for." 
 
 Madame Carouge felt mischievous; she had studied her compan- 
 ion carefully during all these months, and she understood his weak 
 points. 
 
 "It is true, monsieur. I fear I must try again. Perhaps I was 
 altogether wrong in my choice. If you had passed over the want 
 of a marriage-portion, you might have objected on the score of age. 
 You desired, I think, a lady about thirty-five; now, I fear the lady 
 I am thinking of would not fit that age by seventeen or eighteen 
 years. " 
 
 Loigerot reddened, and stuffed both hands into his pockets, till he 
 looked more like a ball than ever. 
 
 "Madame " — he bowed — "I — I named that age because it is hard- 
 ly possible that a younger woman would bring herself to take me 
 as a husband; but it is the limit; I will not marry an old woman, 
 madame. Ciel!"— his little eyes were fierce as he stared at the wid- 
 ow — "the wife you suggest to me must be more than fifty — " 
 
 He stopped — his voice had been thick with anger, and now that 
 he had blustered it out, he felt conscious that this was not quite tho 
 way in which he ought to speak to Madame Carouge. He looked 
 shamefacedly out of the corner of his eye. 
 
 The widow did not seem affronted; she was pressing her hand- 
 kerchief against her lips; but she took it away and answered, pleas- 
 antly : 
 
 " How could it be possible, monsieur, that I should fall into such
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. Ill 
 
 a grievous mistake as that? You married to an old woman! Mon 
 Dieu ! that would be a catastrophe. No, no, the difference of age 
 to which I fear you may object is the other way. The young girl 
 I am thinking of is but seventeen or eighteen ; but then, as she has 
 no money, she would not suit. But it is no matter; it was a silly 
 fancy of mine; only I thought you would make the poor child so 
 much happier than — than Madame Bobineau does." 
 
 The widow had been attentively watching the captain's face, and 
 the change in it as she ended was so startling that once more she 
 hastily pressed her handkerchief to her lips to hide a smile. His 
 expression had changed from anger to perplexity, but as she fin- 
 ished, a sudden look of delight broadened his face, his eyes closed 
 t"ill they were mere slits, and every hair of his mustache and im- 
 perial quivered. 
 
 "Madame, is it possible that you are speaking of Mademoiselle 
 Marie?" he said, stuttering with eager haste to get his words out. 
 " But no; I cannot flatter myself that one so young, so beautiful — " 
 
 The look of intense scorn on Madame Carouge's face stopped him. 
 
 "Monsieur," she said, gravely, "Mademoiselle Marie is not beau- 
 tiful, and I was younger than she is when I married your friend 
 Carouge." 
 
 Loigerot stared at her, opened - mouthed with wonder. Sitting 
 erect on her sofa, she looked, he thought, like a queen to whom 
 even a noble might rightly offer homage ; then he thought of loud- 
 voiced Carouge, with his red nose and clumsy figure— he must sure- 
 ly have been thirty years older than his beautiful young wife. Loi- 
 gerot had been puzzled when first he saw his friend's widow, and 
 now he felt inquisitive. 
 
 "Pardon me, madame, but did you marry Carouge to please your- 
 self?" 
 
 "Certainly, monsieur," she said, sharply; "and the little Marie 
 will marry you for the same reason. In your case," she said, with 
 emphasis, "she will find in her husband not only an indulgent pro- 
 tector who will give her liberty and luxury to which she is not ac- 
 customed, but she will also gain a pleasant and affectionate compan- 
 ion. Bah!" she smiled gayly at him — "have no fear, monsieur, the 
 little girl will adore you Avhen she is your wife." 
 
 The captain grew red under his bronze skin, his little eyes shone 
 with excitement ; he licked some stray hairs off his lips, and rubbed 
 his hands softly together.
 
 112 AT THE BED GLOVE. 
 
 " I do not know how to thank you, madame "—he put one hand 
 on his broad chest. "But — but— will you— may I ask you to add 
 to your goodness by taking the first steps iu this matter!" 
 
 Madame Carouge put her head on one side, and looked at him 
 curiously. 
 
 " I thought, monsieur, you said you were not now in a hurry to 
 marry." 
 
 The captain laughed. ' ' Pardon me " — he cleared his throat — 
 ' ' that was with regard to some one nearer my own age. I am not 
 old, madame; I am not fifty yet; but I feel that I cannot be too 
 young for the charming bride you propose to me, and I should like 
 to lose as little time as possible in making her my wife." 
 
 Madame Carouge leaned back and laughed heartily. " Bravo! it 
 is delightful to see so ardent a lover." Then she held up a finger 
 and shook her head reprovingly. " I am not sure that you have not 
 been acting for yourself, monsieur, and while you pretended to be 
 guided by me, you have actually chosen your wife. Well, men are 
 born deceivers, j'ou know. Now listen, for Moritz will be here in 
 .1 moment: I propose to ask Madame Bobineau, Mademoiselle Ma- 
 rie, and a few other friends to a little soiree to-morrow evening. I 
 hope you will honor me with your presence and ingratiate yourself 
 with the young lady. If she suits you, I will tell you how to pro- 
 ceed further." 
 
 The captain's jocund face lengthened. "To-morrow! ah!" he 
 sighed. " I have promised to go to Bale for a day or two on busi- 
 ness connected with my inheritance." 
 
 Madame Carouge was silent. Presently she said: "I am super- 
 stitious about delays, but I suppose this cannot be helped. To-day 
 is Monday: can you be back by Thursday evening?" 
 
 " On Thursday I am at j^our service, and I tender you my thanks 
 in advance. But do j'ou think Madame Bobineau will consent to 
 this marriage?" 
 
 He looked grave, for it occurred to him that the old woman might 
 demur to the double loss of her first-floor lodger and her shop-girl. 
 
 " You had better leave Madame Bobineau to me," said the wid- 
 ow, confidently. "I answer for her consent; my only doubt was 
 whether you would condescend to marry this young, portionless 
 girl. You are an excellent man. Captain Loigerot. " 
 
 lie looked at her inquiringly; he did not feel that he deserved 
 praise, and he began to think he had been very impulsive, but the
 
 AT TUE KED GLOVE. 
 
 113 
 
 fascination of Madame Carouge's manner had carried him off his 
 feet. "After all," he said to himself, as he stood reflecting, " I can- 
 not be held bound until I have actually proposed for the girl." 
 
 "Madame," he said aloud, "I return you my most devoted 
 thanks" — he took the hand she offered and brushed it with his 
 coarse mustache. "I have been thinking, however, that it will be 
 better to say nothing to Mademoiselle Marie herself until after your 
 soiree." 
 
 The widow was enchanted. 
 
 ' ' Quite right, monsieur : you are as wise as you are kind, " she said. 
 "I see you understand the feelings of a shy young girl. In my 
 opinion a formal presentation of you as her intended husband might 
 only flutter and alarm the little Marie. Let her become accustomed 
 to you, and then choose your own time for speaking of the marriage." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Marie's new gown. 
 
 Before Captain Loigerot left Madame Carouge she gave him a 
 message for Madame Bobineau, informing her that the soiree to 
 which she had been invited was deferred until Thursday evening. 
 
 This was a relief to the old woman. She felt that Marie must be 
 properly dressed for such a great event, and she had trembled at the 
 prospect of having to buy at least a skirt ready made. She had in- 
 tended to sally forth that evening to a cheap drapery shop at the 
 farther end of the town, so as to make as economical a bargain as 
 possible. Now this was unnecessary. She possessed, hoarded away 
 upstairs, a piece of soft gray cashmere which she had never had 
 courage to make up for herself till she had become too old to wear 
 so light a color. It had come to her husband in the way of busi- 
 ness, and he had given it to her. 
 
 She had scarcely spoken to Marie after Madame Carouge's visit, 
 and the girl had been unusually silent, partly from a shame-stricken 
 consciousness of her own vehemence, and partly because she wanted 
 to avoid any talk about the beautiful widow. 
 
 At supper-tirac, however, the old woman praised her visitor, and 
 dwelt much on her condescension in including Marie in the invita- 
 tion to the soiree.
 
 114 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 The girl was silent for a while ; she did not want to provoke a 
 fresh dispute. At last she said, " I do not wish, madame, to go to 
 this party." 
 
 Madame Bobineau looked at her severely, and her lips parted; 
 then she checked herself; there was no use in irritating the girl 
 when so much depended on her docility. She took a pinch of snuff. 
 
 "You are thinking of your dress, child; that is all settled; I in- 
 tend to give you a new one." 
 
 Marie's eyes brightened. It would be very pleasant to have a new 
 gown, she thought, and she felt more reconciled to the idea of the 
 party. 
 
 "How kind you are, madame! Thank you very much." She 
 began to wonder whether Monsieur Engemann would be at Madame 
 Carouge's soiree ; she hoped he would not be there ; she could not 
 feel at ease with him, after all Madame Bobineau had said. 
 
 As she left the house that evening it seemed to her that the Red 
 Glove hanging in front of the shop looked swollen and a deeper red 
 tlian usual; she almost fancied the thumb pointed at her, and she 
 hurried away shivering. 
 
 "What a goose I am!" she said. 
 
 Next morning was dull and cloudy. There was no use in going 
 to the platform beyond her lodging, her beloved mountains would be 
 invisible; and Marie seated herself before her little table and tried to 
 begin a letter to the Superior of St. Esprit. She was determined to 
 leave Berne, but she would not do anj'thing hasty or foolish — any- 
 thing that might grieve her kind friends in the convent. Her plan 
 was to tell the Superior she wished to return to her, and then to 
 submit to the advice she might receive. But when she had written 
 the date at the top of her paper she put down her pen, and a warm 
 blush rose in her face. She had actually not been a week in Berne. 
 She had not given four whole days' trial to her new life, and already 
 she wanted to give it up. She had reached the Red Glove on Friday 
 morning, and this was Tuesday. 
 
 " I am only a great baby." She tried to smile, but her lips quiv- 
 ered so that she felt tears were not far off. She struggled for self- 
 control. "Yes, I am silly. Because it is not all as nice as I expect 
 at once, I want to change to something else." 
 
 She looked round her room. It might be worse. She had told 
 Madame Bobineau about the ugly cracks, and the old woman had 
 routed out some odd pieces of wall-paper, and had given them to
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 115 
 
 Marie, with a jar of paste and a brush. It was wonderful to sec the 
 effect which this somewhat party-colored but fresh-looking decora- 
 tion had produced. Marie replaced the cork in her little ink-bottle. 
 
 " I will wait a v,'hole fortnight, and then perhaps I shall be hap- 
 pier. It is kind of the old cousin to give me a gown." 
 
 Although she shrank from Madame Carouge's patronage, Marie 
 had never been to a party, and she felt rather excited in looking f or- 
 w-ard to it, and it would be very pleasant to wear the new gown. 
 
 "I hope it will fit," she said. " I wonder how it will get made?" 
 
 By this time she was due at the Red Glove, and she set out quick- 
 ly on her way thither. As she drew near the shop she saw Captain 
 Loigerot issue from the house ; he carried a bag. Marie checked her 
 pace, but the captaiu turned in the direction of the railway-station. 
 There w^as no fear of meeting him, so she went on again quickly to 
 the shop entrance. 
 
 As she reached it Monsieur Engemann came out of the house door. 
 lie stopped and held out his hand, and Marie placed hers in it. 
 
 "Good -morning, mademoiselle; I hope you are well," he said, 
 with a bright smile that made the girl feel ashamed of her angry 
 doubts respecting him. 
 
 She returned his greeting, but she was not at ease ; the simple 
 confidence of yesterday had gone from her manner, and Engemann 
 saw that her eyes looked on to the shop as if she were anxious to 
 leave him. 
 
 " She is late, I suppose," bethought, and he bowed and passed on. 
 
 Marie was not late; she was thinking of JIadame Bobineau, whom 
 she sometimes found in the shop when she reached it. She did not 
 want to open the day with a quarrel, and she felt that the old wom- 
 an might fancy this meeting had been arranged. She was relieved 
 to find the shop empty. Her entrance, however, was noticed. The 
 spider was on guard. 
 
 "Marie, come in here," cried Madame Bobineau, from the cur- 
 Jained door of her room. 
 
 Marie went in. The old woman pointed to a roll of cachemire on 
 her table. 
 
 " What do you say to that, child?" she said. Her face was puck- 
 ered with excitement, for indeed it seemed to her that she was be- 
 stowing on Marie a gift of great value. 
 
 " It is very pretty," Marie said. 
 
 "It is lovely, child; it is for you. Madame Carouge has sent to
 
 IIG AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 say that the party is put off till Thursday. Can you make yourself 
 a gown of that stuff by Thursday if I mind the shop now and then, 
 eh?" 
 
 "Oh, thank you!" The girl's eyes glistened. She was ready to 
 kiss Madame Bobincau, but the old woman had turned away. "It 
 is very kind of you, madame. Oh yes, I can make it. I made this 
 one." Then she looked grave. "It is true that Sceur Monique cut 
 it and fitted it, but I did all the sewing." Her under lip dropped, 
 she felt nervous as she looked at the pretty stuff. 
 
 The old woman raised her eyebrows. "Those sisters only turn 
 out machines. Long before I was your age, Marie, I could cut, fit, 
 and sew everything I wore. Why, Bobineau never went to a tailor 
 after he married me." She thought a minute. " Stand still, child, 
 while I measure your skirt. There, that will do. You can slip off 
 the gown presently, and I will measure the body— or, stay, I will do 
 it at once, and then it will be done: there is little chance of a cus- 
 tomer so early." 
 
 Marie took off her gown, and stood wondering at the old woman's 
 rapid dexterity. It seemed to her that in less than half the time that 
 Sister Monica had taken to cut out the body of her gown, Madame 
 Bobineau had got both body and skirt ready for working on. 
 
 "Take this into the shop," she said, giving the body to Marie, 
 with needle and thread. "You can tack the pieces together, ready 
 for fitting, while I sew at the skirt." 
 
 Marie went back to the shop in a flutter of pleasure. She was so 
 surprised she could hardly believe that the old woman had been in 
 earnest, and she felt ashamed as she touched the soft, fine stuff, and 
 again admired its color. Certainly she had wronged Madame Bobi- 
 neau ; her cousin had a bad temper, but she must be very generous. 
 
 "Well, I wonder what sort of a temper I should have had if I 
 had not had the example of good and gentle people? I was angry 
 enough yesterday." 
 
 Marie hung her head penitently over her work, and tacked as fast 
 as she could. For the time the delight of the beautiful new gown 
 had effaced her meeting with Monsieur Engemann. 
 
 He had gone on to the Beauregard. After breakfast he strolled 
 up to the little fountain in the hall; he meant to have a chat with 
 Madame Carouge. Loigerot was away, and he had left his two fel- 
 low-clerks still busy at breakfast. There was no fear of gossip this 
 morning. But when Engemann looked in at the glass-fronted par-
 
 "stand still, child, while I MEASURE YOUR SKIRT."
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE. 119 
 
 lor, there was only Zizi chirping loudly. Madame Carouge was not 
 to be seen. 
 
 Five minutes ago the young man had not been quite sure that he 
 wished to see the widow. Now that he could not see her he felt a 
 pang of regret. All at once it occurred to him that he had been 
 very ungrateful in his avoidance of her. He had begun it from a 
 praiseworthy motive, but yesterday he had been sensible of a change 
 in his feeling towards Madame Carouge; he had passed the turning 
 leading into the fern-shaded space beside the little fountain without 
 any glowing wish to feast his eyes on the beautiful picture her 
 charms used to offer to his fascinated gaze ; the spell she exercised 
 over him had seemed broken. To - day, however, he reproached 
 himself for his indifference, and he longed to see her again. 
 
 " She knew nothing about the gossip," he said. " She must have 
 wondered at not seeing me; she is thinking me capricious and un- 
 friendly; and I am so. Well, I cannot wait to see her now, but I 
 will make up for it this evening." 
 
 And then as he went on to the bank he wondered whether Ma- 
 dame Carouge was ill. This was the first time he had ever missed 
 seeing her in her parlor. Why had he not asked Moritz? He had 
 behaved like a brute. 
 
 The truth was that the widow had heard his footstep— she well 
 knew the firm tread — and she had retreated. She had not quite 
 determined whether she would ask him to her party, and she was 
 afraid of trusting herself with him till she had finally decided. It 
 might cure him of any fancy for Madame Bobineau's cousin, she 
 thought, if he understood that the captain meant to marry her. 
 
 The sight of the old glover's "little cousin" had given the widow 
 a sharper pang than she chose to confess to. On her way home she 
 had told herself that her own love for Rudolf Engemann made her 
 attach undue importance to the little anecdote of his kindness to 
 Marie. He was so good and amiable it was but natural he should 
 try to be of use to this young stranger. 
 
 When she recalled Marie's shy awkwardness it seemed that the 
 best cure for Engemann, supposing he had taken a fancy to the girl, 
 would be found in seeing Marie beside herself. But this thought 
 was only momentary. Madame Carouge loved Rudolf too dearly 
 to have undue confidence in her power of pleasing him. Besides, it 
 was possible — probable even — that this country girl might have been 
 fascinated by Engemann, and that his presence might interfere with 
 
 5"
 
 130 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Monsieur Loigerot's success with lier. When this view presented 
 itself to Madame Carouge her hesitation about asking Rudolf ended; 
 she had promised to help the captain, and she had no right, she told 
 herself, to do anything to hinder the progress of his wooing. 
 
 Still it was a disappointment not to ask the young Swiss; she 
 knew how greatly she should have enjoyed his society; but she 
 must be self-denying for Captain Loigerot's sake. At the same time 
 it must be confessed that she had invited the Riesens, and although 
 she snubbed the clockmaker, she dreaded his penetration. It would 
 be safer not to expose Monsieur Engemann to the risk of meeting 
 Marie under his eyes. She had asked the ex-captain to keep his 
 own invitation a secret. She wished, she said, to have only a 
 small, quiet gathering, and there were just a few acquaintances who 
 might feel themselves aggrieved by being left out, etc., etc. Still, 
 although there was little chance that Rudolf Engemann would hear 
 of the soiree, she preferred to avoid him till it was over. But she 
 felt sore and disappointed at having to do this, and it added to the 
 jealousy she already felt about Marie. She had contradicted the 
 captain's assertion, but Madame Carouge owned frankly to herself 
 that the girl was handsome. 
 
 "She might even look beautiful if she were properly dressed," 
 she said. " When she is Madame Loigerot I will be kind to her, 
 and teach her how to dress. Yes, I mean to be very kind to her." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE SOIKEE. 
 
 Madame BoBnsrEAir had said to her cousin, when they left the 
 Red Glove, "Follow me; don't look about you; and when we ar- 
 rive, do exactly what you see me do." 
 
 "Yes, "Marie said; but when she reached the Hotel Beauregard 
 she could not help looking about her. 
 
 The old woman went on quickly; she did not see the admiring 
 glances which Moritz and a gentleman who was coming down-stairs 
 bestowed on Marie, as the girl lingered for a moment to look at the 
 fern-shaded fountain. 
 
 "Upstairs, ladies, if you please," said the waiter. 
 
 Moritz went on in front, and when they reached the great landing
 
 AT TUE RED GLO\rE. 121 
 
 he opened a door opposite the dining-room, and ushered them into 
 a pretty sitting-room lighted up with wax-candles; there were bou- 
 quets of flowers on the tables, and on a dumb-waiter in one corner 
 there were plates of pretty little cakes, some iced with chocolate and 
 some frosted with colored sugar. 
 
 Madame Carouge was alone. She had told Madame Bobineau to 
 come early, and now she rose from a sofa and came forward with 
 graceful dignity, her rich black silk skirt trailing behind her. While 
 she stood shaking hands with Madame Bobineau and receiving the 
 old woman's flow of compliments, Marie was gazing at her with de- 
 light; she had never even dreamed of beauty like this. 
 
 Madame Carouge's dress was simple enough ; but to-night, for the 
 first time since her husband's death, she had put on some of the or- 
 naments he had lavished on her; she had chosen the most simple 
 among them— a necklace and bracelets of plain golden scales lapped 
 one over the other like the scales of a serpent, and sending out, as 
 she moved, tongues of brilliant light. There was such a supple 
 grace in this beautiful woman's movements, in the curve of her neck 
 as she turned her head to welcome Marie, that the girl felt subju- 
 gated. It seemed to her that velvet could not be richer than the ex- 
 quisite glow on the widow's cheeks ; and how wondrously lustrous 
 were the eyes bent smilingly on her own! 
 
 In truth, Madame Carouge's vivid beauty showed like some rich 
 jewel in the dusky setting of her dark hair and sombre dress ; not a 
 mere blaze of splendor, but a living, glowing radiance. 
 
 If Madame Bobineau had watched the two women gazing into each 
 other's eyes, she would have noted that both expressed the same 
 feeling. Marie had followed her cousin's example, and had put her 
 hat and her white shawl — the only bit of finery she possessed — on 
 the table outside. And she also was a striking figure in her sim- 
 ple pale gown, relieved by lace frilling round her ivory throat and 
 wrists. 
 
 Madame Carouge admired the firm round throat, and then her 
 eyes travelled over the pure, serene face, the limpid gray eyes, the 
 creamy white of the temples, from w^hich the soft brown hair was 
 gathered in careless waves to a little knot at the back of the head. 
 Madame Carouge sighed. She knew that Marie's tresses could nev- 
 er compare with her own magnificent wealth of dark hair, but there 
 was an unstudied simplicity and freshness about the young girl 
 which she envied.
 
 122 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 She gave Madame Bobineau a charming smile as she placed Marie 
 on a sofa beside her old cousin. 
 
 "I congratulate you," she said, lowering her mellow voice. 
 " She is perfectly dressed; that soft clinging stuff suits her exact- 
 ly." Then going up to one of the nosegays, she pulled from it a 
 small bunch of flesh-colored carnations. "Will you permit me. 
 Mademoiselle Marie?" she said. " If only I had a pin. Ah! thank 
 you, Madame Bobineau." 
 
 And just as the opening door gave warning of fresh guests, she 
 had fastened the knot of carnations against Marie's white throat, 
 giving her dress the tinge of color it needed. 
 
 Moritz announced Monsieur and Madame Riesen, but his voice 
 was drowned in the gushing greeting with which that lady entered; 
 it so matched with her appearance that it seemed as if she must 
 have begun her speech before the door opened. And when she had 
 at last yielded up Madame Carouge to her husljand, she hurried over 
 her greeting to Madame Bobineau that she might get at Marie. 
 
 ' ' I am delighted to see you, my dear young lady. " She kept the 
 girl's hand in hers, beaming at her so approvingly that Marie's eyes 
 drooped under such open admiration. " Well, well, you are indeed 
 a salve for sore eyes— as fresh as a fountain in full play. Riesen, 
 look here. " She turned, and seeing her husband still bending over 
 Madame Carouge's hand, she made a grimace, and spoke in a loud- 
 er voice. " It is not often, is it, Madame Bobineau, that one sees — 
 what shall I say? — two planets shining at once in Berne? You 
 know, my dear mademoiselle, we Swiss are not famed for our 
 beauty. Are we, Madame Bobineau?" 
 
 She glanced down as she made this remark, and thereby became 
 aware that she was not giving universal satisfaction. Madame Bo- 
 bineau's head had sunk into her neck as a turtle's sinks into its shell. 
 And indeed, except that her face was flat instead of pointed, she did 
 not look at that moment unlike a turtle; her small, glittering eyes 
 were quite expressionless, and her dark skin looked tough and 
 creased, as she stared stolidly before her, quite deaf to her friend's 
 appeal. 
 
 A gleam of malice shot into Madame Riesen's pale eyes. She bent 
 down and whispered to Marie, so loudly, however, that the mistress 
 of tlie Red Glove could not escape hearing. 
 
 " Never mind, my dear child; your cousin knows you are a beau- 
 ty as well as I do, but she is afraid I shall turn your head, and "
 
 AT TUE BED GLOVE. I03 
 
 — she nodded her head significantly — "she is afraid the empress 
 over the way may dislilvc that any one except herself should be flat- 
 tered. But I for one have too good an opinion of Madame Carouge 
 to suppose she could be so vain." 
 
 She had left off whispering, and there had come a pause in her 
 husband's talk with the widow. 
 
 " Chut!" said Madame Bobineau. Then, in a tone of fawning 
 politeness, "Will you come and sit beside me, madame?" and she 
 made room at the end of the sofa. 
 
 Madame Riesen's last sentence had reached the quick cars of her 
 hostess and Riesen. He was gazing in rapt admiration into Madame 
 Carouge 's beautiful eyes, and he saw that she had heard. 
 
 "Shall we have the pleasure of seeing Monsieur Engemann this 
 evening, madame?" he said, quickly. 
 
 " Well, no, I think not." Madame Carouge did not know what to 
 say in answer to the question which she saw in the clockmaker's 
 face. She knew so well that he would not shrink from uttering it 
 that she said, as if in answer: " I am expecting Captain Loigerot. 
 By-the-bye, I want to give you a hint respecting him — in perfect 
 confidence, you understand." 
 
 The last words were heard by Madame Riesen. She was in the 
 act of making Madame Bobineau laugh by a mischievous imitation 
 of Lenoir the hair-dresser, but she stopped at this. 
 
 " I am, perhaps, a little in the waj^" she said to the old woman, 
 and her glance pointed her words. ' ' Confess, now, do you not think 
 Lorenz and our hostess would make a fine couple?" She blinked 
 her eyes to get a tear into them. "I feel I am the only obstacle." 
 
 Madame Bobineau smiled grimly. But such talk as this in Ma- 
 rie's presence irritated her more than the flattery which had gone 
 before it. 
 
 "You forget Monsieur Engemann." She knew that the jealous 
 wife wanted to be told that she was unreasonable, but she was not 
 inclined to indulge her. "I fancy matters are arranged between 
 him and Madame Carouge. " 
 
 The clockmaker's wife had recovered herself. The old woman's 
 cynical manner had had the bracing effect such a manner is apt to 
 have on excitable natures, and while wishing she had been less ex- 
 pansive, she registered a grudge to be paid to Madame Bobineau 
 with interest on the first opportunity. 
 
 " Rudolf Engemann is a charming fellow indeed," she said, "but
 
 124 AT THE EED GLOVE. 
 
 between ourselves " — she put her hand beside her mouth, speaking 
 quite loudly enough for Marie to hear if she chose — " I should have 
 thought him suited for something j'oungcr " — here she nudged Ma- 
 dame Bobineau "with her sharp elbow — "not so far off neither." 
 
 But Madame Riesen was not a match for the mistress of the Red 
 Glove. She was less clever, and she had more feeling, and her af- 
 fection for her husband offered a vulnerable spot which her cynical 
 old gossip was aware of. 
 
 Madame Bobineau opened her little eyes to their most surprised 
 extent. 
 
 "Dear me! I thought equality of age in marriage was quite an 
 old-fashioned idea. It seems to me that suitability of temper is far 
 more necessary." Madame Riesen winced, but the old woman went 
 on steadily. "Believe me, if a young man marries an inexperi- 
 enced girl" — she looked at Marie — "they are sure to quarrel. He 
 has always been accustomed to have everjihing done for him, and 
 he looks for it; she is in the same case. There should be experi- 
 ence on one side or the other." 
 
 Madame Riesen looked at her admiringly. "You speak like a 
 book," she said. " I dare say you are right, but in my opinion the 
 experience should be on the side of the husband." 
 
 "Chut!" said Madame Bobineau again, for Madame Riesen had 
 gone on talking, heedless of the opening door; and the next mo- 
 ment the short, round figure of Captain Loigerot rolled into the 
 room, and stood bowing before Madame Carouge as if she were a 
 queen. 
 
 "Permit me, monsieur," she said, rising. "I wish to present 
 you to some old friends, and also to a new one." 
 
 The captain's round face expressed unlimited satisfaction as he 
 followed his hostess to the opposite sofa. She wished to take him 
 at once to Marie, but Madame Riesen stopped their progress. 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur Loigerot," she said, "you have no eyes for me, 
 and indeed who can wonder? Gray hairs are not attractive — are 
 they, Madame Bobineau ?" She nudged her neighbor, and then 
 glancing at her flat brown head, she slightly shrugged her shoul- 
 ders. "Eh, man Dieu, you have no gi'ay hair; I had forgotten." 
 
 Captain Loigerot might have repeated the hair-dresser's compli- 
 ment, and this would have secured Madame Riesen's alliance; but 
 it must be owned that the brave ex-soldier was in such trepidation 
 at the idea of approaching Marie under these changed circumstances
 
 AT THE EED GLOVE. 125 
 
 that the room and Madame Riesen seemed to be going round, and 
 he had to press his feet tirmly into the carpet to convince himself 
 that he stood upright on his legs. 
 
 Madame Bobineau rose and made him a deep courtesy, and this 
 was really helpful ; her homage restored his self - respect, and the 
 very action of shaking hands recalled to him Madame Carouge's as- 
 surance that he was doing a kindness to the girl in becoming her 
 husband. He had not looked at her till now, and he was complete- 
 ly dazzled by her beauty; he had only seen her under the shadow 
 of her straw hat, and he was not prepared for the distinction which 
 her well-placed head and her pale ivory skin lent to the girl's other 
 attractions. The captain grew red, while he bowed as low as he 
 had just now bowed to Madame Carouge. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Peyrolles," said the widow, "will you permit me 
 to present to you my distinguished friend, Captain Loigerot, who 
 wishes to make your acquaintance?" 
 
 Marie took courage at this. She looked up and smiled, first at 
 the widow, and then at the captain. 
 
 "I" — the captain was purple under his bronze skin — "I have al- 
 ready had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with Mademoiselle 
 Marie." He puffed out each word more than usual. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur. " 
 
 Marie did not find anything else to say. Madame Carouge's fixed 
 gaze made her feel awkward and self-conscious. She was more 
 shy of her hostess than she was of the captain. To her relief, after 
 saying a few more words to Monsieur Loigerot, Madame Carouge 
 moved on and addressed herself to Madame Riesen. 
 
 "Dear madame," she said, "I want to show you my new photo- 
 graph. You must give me your opinion about it." 
 
 Then she moved gracefully across the room, so that Madame Rie- 
 sen was obliged to rise and follow her. 
 
 The mistress of the Red Glove smiled approvingly. She watched 
 the two ladies without turning her head, and when she saw Riesen 
 go up and join them in discussing the merits of the new portrait, 
 she slid herself quietly into the place just occupied by the clock- 
 maker's wife. 
 
 She noticed that Marie and the captain both seemed shy of each 
 other, and it seemed to her they would get on better left to them- 
 selves. It is sometimes a fact that the motive power of serving 
 one's own interest quickens perception.
 
 126 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 "You must be tired, monsieur," she said, la the humble tones she 
 always used to her first-floor lodger. "Will you not take this place 
 on the sofa?" she pointed to the space between herself and Marie. 
 
 "I return you many thanks, madame." The captain made two 
 more bows, one to Madame Bobineau and one to Marie, giving them 
 each a full view of his pink crown, and increasing the color in his 
 face by the exertion. 
 
 As soon as he was seated he turned to Marie. He felt in a meas- 
 ure screened from observation, now that his back was towards the 
 room. This surrender of her scat had recalled to him Madame Ca- 
 rouge's hint that he need not look for any opposition on the part of 
 Madame Bobineau. 
 
 He heaved a sigh of relief, but as he looked at 3Iarie he became 
 aware that he felt timid and unhopeful; the undertaking was very 
 difficult. 
 
 "Courage, Achille!" he said. "Why should a -woman be more 
 difficult to win than a town! I never felt like this when I led a 
 storming party." 
 
 At that moment the refrain of a song in which he had often 
 joined at the caserne flitted through his brain and gave him courage: 
 
 "Vive le vin, I'amour, et le tabac! 
 C'est le refrain du bivouac, le refrain du bivouac." 
 
 It seemed to assure him that soldiers are famed for success in love, 
 and that love-making was no more diflficult than smoking or drink- 
 ing was. Courage, then ; at least he would not be fainthearted. 
 
 "Is mademoiselle — fond — of flowers?" He glanced at the knot 
 of carnations at her throat. 
 
 ' ' Yes, I am very fond of flowers, monsieur. " 
 
 And as she loved flowers dearly, Marie's eyes lighted up with en- 
 thusiasm as she looked at them. 
 
 The captain pulled at his imperial. "Mademoiselle will then 
 allow me to bring her some flowers?" he said. 
 
 A smile had begun to curve Marie's lips. She was "wondering 
 ■why the captain puffed out his words so much more than he did at 
 their last meeting; then she reflected that she had never been to a 
 party before, and that perhaps this was the way in which people 
 talked at parties. She did not like it; it made her feel strange and 
 nervous; but when the captain offered to bring her some, her eyes 
 again shone with pleasure.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 127 
 
 " Oil, thank you, monsieur," she said; "j'ou are indeed kind." 
 
 The captain was delighted; he felt that this was progress. He 
 half closed his eyes with ineffable satisfaction, and sat blinking at 
 Marie. 
 
 "Mademoiselle would like to have a garden of her own?" he said, 
 presently. After all, he began to see that if he could make the girl's 
 life very pleasant, she might be brought to prefer him to the glove 
 shop, or even to a younger man. 
 
 Marie smiled gayly and shook her head. "Yes, monsieur, that 
 would be a castle in Spain." 
 
 She showed her pretty teeth as she laughed, and the captain 
 longed to kiss her. He liked every one to be merry; what a jocund 
 life he should lead with this lively young creature! 
 
 " There is no reason why mademoiselle should not possess a gar- 
 den," he said, pompously. 
 
 "No " — Marie shook her head — " I shall never have one. I think 
 it would be like heaven to have a garden ;" and she gazed pensively 
 at the nosegay on the table near her. 
 
 Riesen had been watching them for the last five minutes. " I see 
 that Mademoiselle Marie shakes her head at our friend," he said. 
 "I fear that does not promise well for his success. What do you 
 say, ladies?" 
 
 His wife's presence had for Riesen effectually destroyed the pleas- 
 ure of conversation with Madame Carouge. He considered himself 
 an excellent husband, but he also considered himself necessary to 
 the handsome young widow ; he was her mentor, the pilot who 
 helped her to steer her course safely among the rocks and quick- 
 sands of flirtations and greedy suitors; yet he knew, although he 
 turned his eyes away from the knowledge, that the pleasure of his 
 talks with Madame Carouge was much like that of a school-boy in 
 a forbidden apple-tree; certainly this evening all the special charm 
 that characterized such talks was absent. 
 
 " Is it not so, ladies?" he repeated, for his hostess did not answer, 
 and his wife was scrutinizing the couple on the sofa out of her pale 
 gray eyes. 
 
 At this fresh appeal Madame Carouge said, with a smile that he 
 felt to be sarcastic, 
 
 "Monsieur Loigerot is both discreet and judicious, monsieur; he 
 "will not say anything that Mademoiselle Marie can refuse this even- 
 ing. I am sure you wish him success. "
 
 128 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 She raised lier eyes to liis, and Riesen was conquered. 
 
 "I wish whatever you wish." He spoke almost in a whisper, 
 but still his wife heard him. 
 
 "The captain is surely too old, madame," she said; "he might 
 easily be that child's father. One or other must be unhappy in 
 such a marriage as that will be. " 
 
 Riesen shrugged his shoulders and moved away. He was dis- 
 gusted at his wife's want of tact, but he never rebuked her iu public. 
 
 Madame Carouge, on the contrary, smiled caressingly at her of- 
 fending guest, and patted her arm. 
 
 " You are so romantic, dear Madame Riesen. You must please 
 remember that all the world are not so fortunate as you were. We 
 cannot all make love marriages on both sides." Her listener shrank 
 away a little. "Believe me, the captain is not old, and he is very 
 fresh for his age. Moreover, you have only to look at him to see 
 that he is in love; it is a great chance for a poor little shop-girl to 
 attract a man in his position. See how pleased she looks." 
 
 As she met Madame Riesen's eyes, the triumph which the cap- 
 tain's success had brought into her own faded. The clockmaker's 
 wife had also a triumphant expression; but there was malice in it, 
 and the malice of a feeble nature is always alarming. 
 
 " To look at her" — Madame Riesen gave a careless glance across 
 the room — "you would never imagine her to be a shop-girl, would 
 you? She is the finest girl I have seen for many a day— so fresh 
 and youthful. And what a white skin she has!" — fixing her eyes 
 on madame's brown throat. "How the men must admire it! They 
 do, and I hear she is considered very handsome. Indeed, between 
 ourselves, I have reason to know that she has a younger and far 
 more suitable admirer than our friend the captain." 
 
 She looked at Madame Carouge, but the widow's face was expres- 
 sionless; that look of malice had put her on her guard. 
 
 "Really, "she said, "you interest me; but is he as well able to 
 keep a wife as the captain is?" 
 
 " I do not know " — Madame Riesen spoke crossly. ' ' As you 
 say, I am romantic, my dear friend. I think of love before money 
 in a marriage." 
 
 "Then we are agreed," said Madame Carouge, with her fascinat- 
 ing smile, and she moved nearer to where Marie was sitting. She 
 felt curious to know what the captain had been saying to bring that 
 warm glow of pleasure to the girl's cheek.
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE. 129 
 
 Loigerot could hardly take his eyes off Marie, the delicate flush 
 added so much in his eyes to her beauty, but he felt obliged to turu ' 
 at last to Madame Bobineau. 
 
 " I have been asking mademoiselle if she has visited the Schanzli, 
 madame, and she says No. I propose, with your leave, to escort 
 you both there on Sunday evening." 
 
 Madame Bobineau turned away from Riesen, who was offering 
 her a glass of sirup from the tray which Moritz had just placed on 
 the table. 
 
 " Monsieur is goodness itself," she said, in her fawning voice. 
 
 "I thank you, madame." Loigerot was conscious of his power 
 over Madame Bobineau, and he puffed out his words with extra 
 force. " Then it is arranged that I call for you and for mademoi- 
 selle on Sunday evening: it will be delightful." 
 
 At this, Eiesen, who had stood by a silent listener to this arrange- 
 ment, turned to Madame Carouge. 
 
 "The idea of pleasure is infectious," he said, with a fatherly 
 glance at Marie. "The bright anticipation I see in mademoiselle's 
 eyes makes me feel that we too, madame, should try to have a hap- 
 py day on Sunday. Shall we agree to go to Thun?" 
 
 "By all means;" and Madame Carouge for a moment looked al- 
 most as young and gay as Marie did. 
 
 ' ' It gets late, Lorenz, " said Madame Riesen ; she tapped her hus- 
 band's arm with her fan. 
 
 " Yes indeed, it is late," chimed in Madame Bobineau. " Marie, 
 it is time to say good-night." 
 
 While they made their adieux the captain whispered to Madame 
 Bobineau, " I may walk home with you?" and the old woman nod- 
 ded. 
 
 " A word with you, monsieur," said Madame Carouge. 
 
 But the gallant captain was already outside the door fingering 
 Marie's shawl, so that he might have it ready to put it over her 
 when she came out on to the great landing. Having done this to 
 his satisfaction, he rolled back into the room and caught ]\Iadame 
 Riesen sniggering at a joke she had just made at his expense. Ma- 
 dame Carouge, however, came forward gracefully. 
 
 "You will excuse me, my kind friend " — he was almost breath- 
 less with impatience — "the ladies await me. Good-night, dear ma- 
 dame, and thank you a thousand times for the happiness you have 
 given me."
 
 130 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 She held out her hand, and the captain raised it to his lips. 
 
 "I congratulate j'ou," she said. "I had intended to give you a 
 few hints as to the conduct of the affair, but it seems to me you are 
 quite able to manage for yourself. Au revoir, and good success." 
 
 He kissed his fingers to her, and then nodding to the Riesens, he 
 rejoined Marie and Madame Bobineau in such a state of excitement 
 that he missed his footing on the staircase, and but for Moritz's 
 timely aid would have rolled to the bottom. 
 
 CHAPTER XVni. 
 
 A CHAT. 
 
 So far Rudolf Engemann's female acquaintances in Berne had 
 been limited. He was only intimate with the beautiful widow, and 
 circumstances had brought him in contact with Madame Bobineau 
 and Madame Riesen and one or two others. 
 
 It is true that the heads of the banli in which he was a clerk had 
 in turn asked him to dine with them in their chateaux some way 
 out of the town, but the young fellow felt that these had been mere 
 kindnesses shown to him, and that the gulf between him and these 
 wealthy personages was too wide for free intercourse. 
 
 Rudolf was not ambitious, and he did not care to strain his 
 ideas so as to force sympathy with people who looked at life from 
 a different stand-point. Perhaps the key to his sudden interest in 
 Marie Pej'rolles, apart from the glamour created by her looks, was 
 the fact that he met her on equal ground. She was a shop-girl, but 
 then nothing about her recalled any faults or shortcomings con- 
 nected with that position. She was as modest and as gentle, Ru- 
 dolf thought, as if his own mother had reared her, and this was 
 the highest praise the young fellow could have bestowed on any 
 woman ; but the thought had never occurred to him in connection 
 with Madame Carouge. There was another point of equality with 
 Marie: she had no fortune; she depended on her own exertions for 
 her living. Madame Bobineau had taken good care to make this 
 known to every one, and it gave Engemann a sense of sympathy 
 which he could not feel with his other female acquaintances. These 
 were among the excuses he made to himself on the morning after 
 the party, for he was ashamed of his keen feeling of disappointment
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 131 
 
 ■when he looked in at the window of the Red Glove and saw that 
 the shop was empty. 
 
 It was doubtless owing to tliis paucity of female friends that En- 
 gemann had remained ignorant of the soiree at the Hotel Beaure- 
 gard. He had looked in at the Red Glove shop on Wednesday, but 
 he only saw Madame Bobineau, as Marie was sewing hard at her 
 gown in the room behind the curtained door. 
 
 Last night when he came out from dinner he saw that Madame 
 Carouge was again absent from her little room, and he had remarked 
 that Captain Loigerot had a flower in his button-hole and was sin- 
 gularly silent. He had also remarked that Moritz drove the dinner 
 on in a very hurried manner, and that there was far less delay than 
 usual between the courses. 
 
 Just beyond the hotel, at the corner of the street opposite the 
 Kornmarkt, was a flower shop. There was little show of flowers 
 in the broad window, a plant or two, some dried grasses, and two 
 or three wreaths of immortelles, but even a stranger like Rudolf 
 knew that this shop had a reputation for bouquets, and he had more 
 than once thought whether, in token of gratitude for her kindness- 
 es, he ought not to order a nosegay there and present it to Madame 
 Carouge. 
 
 This morning he was about to turn into the hotel to get liis break- 
 fast, when he saw Captain Loigerot coming out of the flower shop. 
 He stood for an instant balancing himself on the door-step, his legs 
 wide apart, and a hand deep down in each pocket; a smile of per- 
 fect but indescribable satisfaction broadened his face, while it nar- 
 rowed his eyes into slits. 
 
 Rudolf felt inquisitive. "What could the captain want with 
 flowers? And then it occurred to him that it was possible that he, 
 too, wished to make an offering to Madame Carouge. 
 
 He was inclined to cross the street and ask Loigerot what he had 
 been doing, but his reserve made him hesitate. Presently the clock- 
 maker came up and spoke to the captain, and then seeing Engemann 
 in the hotel entrance, they both crossed over to him. 
 
 Riesen was laughing heartily, but Loigerot seemed confused. 
 
 "Well, well, my friend," the clockmaker said, "I admire you 
 immensely ; such promptitude is only to be expected from a soldier, 
 and no one can say you are faint-hearted. " 
 
 Loigerot looked redder than usual, Engemann thought. 
 
 "Why should I be faint-hearted?" the stout man answered. He
 
 133 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 had not made a confidant of Monsieur Eiesen, and be did not care 
 to be ridiculed before Engemann. "I — I — " be pulled at the tuft 
 of hair on his chin. " It seems to me that it would be ungrateful on 
 my part to have hesitation." 
 
 Riescn burst into another hearty laugh. "Great heavens! I beg 
 pardon," he said. "I had no notion of your rapidity; that walk 
 home" — he lowered his voice — "that gave the affair a lift, I fancy. 
 Well, I congratulate you. Ha! ha!" 
 
 The captain nodded, but he looked grave, and as he walked away, 
 Madame Carouge's parting request came back to the clockmaker, 
 and he felt foolish. 
 
 "Pray keep this affair secret, dear friends," she had said, holding 
 his and his wife's hand in each of hers. "People might laugh, and 
 our captain would not submit to ridicule, I fear." 
 
 And Monsieur Riesen had solemnly promised over that soft hand 
 that no one should learn anything from him, and now he had joked 
 the captain before Engemunn. Already he saw a question in En- 
 gemann's honest blue eyes. He must endeavor to prevent this. 
 
 " I am fortunate this morning," he said to the young fellow. " I 
 had been planning how I could see you." 
 
 Rudolf smiled. "I am easily found. I am at the bank, or I 
 am to be found here at this hour, and at dinner." 
 
 ' ' Yes, yes, I know ; but during the day I have my business to see 
 to, and I hear when you leave the bank you take prodigious walks 
 into the country." 
 
 " Yes, I am fond of a walk. I get an appetite; it gives me some- 
 thing to do." 
 
 Riesen gave him a smile that puzzled Engemann, it was so incred- 
 ulous. 
 
 ' ' I should have thought you might find plenty to do here. " 
 
 There was the slightest movement of his eyes towards the hotel. 
 
 " You have something to tell me," Engemann said; he had often 
 listened to the clockmakcr's talk with Loigerot and others, and he 
 was on his guard against his fashion of extracting a confidence. 
 
 Rudolf was too simple to be irritated b}^ ridicule; he had not selfr 
 consciousness enough to apply it personally; but he shrank from 
 any comment on his friendship for the widow, 
 
 "Yes, yes." The clockmaker smiled at the check: there was no 
 obtuseness in Monsieur Riesen ; he was fully conscious of the force 
 of every blow which he either dealt or received. " I was about to
 
 AT THE BED GLOVE. 133 
 
 propose to you that, as the weather now seems settled, there is, I 
 fancy, no hiuderance to our boating expedition being fixed for Sun- 
 day. What do you say? Are you able to go witli us?" 
 
 " Tliauli you, yes; I shall enjoy it of all things. At what time do 
 you start?" 
 
 "We are to brealifast with Madame Carouge about ten o'clock, 
 and afterwards we can all go together to the station. I will order a 
 boat to be in readiness at Scherzliugen to take us as far as Gunten. 
 On our return Madame Carouge wishes to land before we reach 
 Thun, and to walk back through the woods. We can dine at the 
 Freienhof, and come home by train in the cool of the evening. 
 Do you approve of this programme?" 
 
 He smiled, but his voice sounded stubborn. It galled him to 
 think that this young fellow was really master of the situation; for, 
 in making his arrangements last night with Madame Carouge, she 
 had more than once said that they must depend on whether Sunday 
 would suit the convenience of Monsieur Engemann. 
 
 Engemaun's face was sufficient answer to Riesen's question, and 
 it is possible that the glow of pleasure it expressed was an extra 
 cause of irritation to his companion. 
 
 "I think your programme is charming," the young fellow said. 
 Then, although he was not very observant, he noticed Riesen's grave 
 manner. "It is very kind," he added, with a smile genial enough 
 to sweeten a cynic, " to take so much trouble to give others a pleas- 
 ant holiday." 
 
 "I intend to get some pleasure out of it too, my friend" — Riesen 
 went on in his mocking manner — "though I do not expect to reap 
 from it the profit to which you aspire — pardon me, I am keeping 
 you from your breakfast." 
 
 The sudden color in the young fellow's face showed him where 
 Engemann was vulnerable. He smiled pleasantly as he nodded his 
 farewell. 
 
 "After all," he said to himself, " if he has any sense of honor, he 
 will not propose to her. He must know what will be said of such 
 an unequal match. The worst of it is, she may make it impossible 
 for the young fellow to help proposing to her. Those eyes of hers 
 are omnipotent." He arched his eyebrows at this till they nearly 
 reached his forehead, and letting his gray beard sink into his waist- 
 coat, he walked thoughtfully home. 
 
 Meanwhile "the young fellow" had walked up to Madame Ca-
 
 134 AT TUK BED GLOVE. 
 
 rouge's parlor in a happ}' mood. He loved boating, and it was 
 some time since he had had a real holiday. Eicsen's programme 
 had sounded to him almost fairy-like, for he knew well how beauti- 
 ful was the scenery of the Lake of Thun. He was impatient to 
 thank Madame Carouge for the pleasure she had procured him. 
 
 The glass door was closed, and when he looked through the win- 
 dow he saw that the room was empty. 
 
 It was still early, and Madame Carouge had been tired out on the 
 previous evening. This morning, instead of rising as soon as she 
 had drank her chocolate, she had turned round and was now fast 
 asleep. Before she came down-stairs Rudolf Engemann was on his 
 way to the bank.
 
 PART IV. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE captain's nosegay. 
 
 Captain Loigerot's excitement must 
 certainly have kept watch over liim dur- 
 ing the night, for as soon as he opened 
 his eyes he was conscious that some de- 
 lightful event was in store for him. 
 
 He rose, dressed himself with extra 
 care, stared at himself in the glass to see 
 if he looked as young as he felt, and then 
 went to pay his daily visit to Lenoir, 
 whose shop was in the Kornmarkt, just 
 opposite the Ogre Fountain. 
 
 The hair-dresser was in a sulky mood. 
 He had learned all about Madame Ca- 
 rouge's soiree, and although he did not 
 rank himself with the other guests, he 
 thought he was quite as good as Madame 
 Bobineau or her shop-girl. "Madame 
 Bobineau, indeed ! why, she would never 
 have come to Berne but for his interven- 
 tion." 
 
 The captain was as chirpy as a bird. 
 "Ha! ha!" — he rubbed his hands, laugh- 
 ed, and in consequence narrowly missed 
 receiving a mouthful of lather — "we had 
 a charming entertainment last night." 
 
 "Will monsieur be good enough to 
 
 hold his face still?" the hair-dresser said, grimly. "My razor is 
 
 very sharp this morning, and — " 
 
 Then, while his victim sat motionless as marble, Lenoir went on : 
 
 " Yes, yes; I heard all about it. I heard that the gentlemen en- 
 
 6
 
 136 AT TUE RED GLOVE. 
 
 joyed themselves more than the ladies did. You wanted another 
 man or two, something lively, I fancy." 
 
 Loigerot longed to say that he was sure some of the ladies had 
 enjoyed the soiree, but his words never came to him quickly, and 
 he feared that a gash on his chin might make him unpresentable to 
 Marie. So he remained silent, and Lenoir relapsed into sulkiness. 
 
 The captain did not stay to talk when the shaving was over, for - 
 he was impatient to order a bouquet ; he had resolved not to present 
 himself at Madame Bobineau's without some flowers for Marie. 
 
 It was disappointing to hear that he must wait for them till after- 
 noon; the garden belonging to the shop was at some little distance 
 from the town, and the girl said, "although there were plenty of 
 ordinary flowers in the shop, as monsieur desired choice roses and 
 carnations, and some hot-house blossoms besides, it would be neces- 
 sary to send for them." 
 
 It had been a relief to his fidgety impatience to get that chat with 
 Riesen and Engemann when he left the flower shop, but he felt an- 
 noyed with the clockmaker. He had a sort of uneasy dislike of 
 ridicule, and he especially wished that Engemann should not hear 
 of his engagement until he had seen Marie again. When he remem- 
 bered her friendliness and her smiles last night he felt tolerably safe, 
 but still it seemed wiser not to put himself into competition with a 
 younger man till the affair had taken a step in advance. 
 
 "If the little darling accepts my flowers," he thought, "that will 
 be a clincher. A sweet innocent girl like that will not take presents 
 from one man while she smiles on another. " 
 
 Instead of paying his usual visit to the Hotel Beauregard, he 
 actually walked off to Zimmerwald and breakfasted there, timing 
 his return so as to reach Berne soon after four o'clock, the hour at 
 which the flowers were to be ready. 
 
 He was a little tired with his long walk, for the road had been 
 hilly and the sun hot, and he sat down to rest in the outer shop 
 while the young woman behind the counter went into the green- 
 house beyond to fetch the nosegay ; there was a look of conscious 
 pride in her face as she held it out for his inspection. 
 
 " It is beautiful, is it not, monsieur? I am not sure that we have 
 made so fine a bouquet this season. Those carnations are unique 
 pot flowers, Monsieur Dunelloy's own seedlings, and the roses are 
 choice blossoms, and these delicate sprays between are very rare. 
 Monsieur may be sure that the bouquet will give satisfaction. " She
 
 
 - > -V « ^   
 
 . H- *sS* ■*!'■% "'"'5 - 
 
 lap - 'f fey?>fc: 
 
 L 
 
 THE GALLANT CAPTAIN WAS KAGER TO SEE MARIE S DELIGHT.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 139 
 
 turned the big nosegay slowly round. "Will monsieur have the 
 kindness to say where it must be sent?" 
 
 The captain blushed and stuffed his bauds into his pockets, 
 "Nowhere, mademoiselle," he said, solemnly. "I intend to carry 
 it myself." 
 
 The young woman looked at the captain and then at the big bou- 
 quet, but she was too polite to smile. 
 
 "Monsieur will wish me to put some paper round it?" she said. 
 
 Loigerot held out his hand, and taking the nosegay from her, he 
 surveyed it with satisfaction. 
 
 "Yes, it is beautiful," he said; "it seems to me, however, that 
 already it has some pretty paper round it. If you wrap it up you 
 may injure the flowers, mademoiselle, and crumple the lace edging. 
 No; I will take it as it is." 
 
 He handed her the nosegay to hold while he felt in his pocket for 
 the price he had arranged to pay for it, and then, swelling with the 
 pride he felt in his purchase, and eager to see Marie's delight, the 
 captain came out of the shop. 
 
 He kept on the opposite side of the street from the hotel. The 
 woman who had served him came to the door, and stood laughing 
 at the short, broad figure stumping along with the huge nosegay 
 carried carefully in front. Loigerot was not at all ashamed of him- 
 self, but he wanted to avoid Riesen's shop, and also the chance of a 
 meeting with the hair-dresser, who might be coming round the cor- 
 ner of the Beauregard from his shop in the Kornmarkt. 
 
 " It was a happy thought. Madame Carouge says it is the right 
 thing to give a nosegay." He puffed out his cheeks. "I — I like 
 to do the right thing. I always did the right thing in the army, and 
 I shall do the right thing in courtship." 
 
 Just as he reached the bank Rudolf Engemann came out of it, 
 and seeing Loigerot's nosegay, he stopped short. 
 
 " Halloo, captain!" — he broke into a hearty laugh— "what a splen- 
 did nosegay! I'll wager it's on its way to a fair lady — and yet you 
 have passed the Beauregard. Can I guess for whom these flowers 
 are intended?" 
 
 Loigerot reddened, and moved first one foot and then the other. 
 " You need not guess. I am carrying them to a friend." He spoke 
 with dignity, and he planted his legs wide apart, and stared defiantly 
 at Engemann. The young fellow's broad smile had made him feel 
 ridiculous. "There is nothing for you to laugh at" — his words
 
 140 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 came out quickly. "I am carrying tlicse flowers to the lady who 
 is to be my wife." 
 
 Engemami took off his hat and made a low bow. " You must 
 pardon me, captain," he said. " Please accept my congratulations. 
 I was not aware that you had any such intentions. I wish you 
 
 success." 
 
 He was going to ask the lady's name, but the captain's impatience 
 would not brook further delay; he returned the young fellow's bow, 
 and then crossed the street and disappeared under the arcade. He 
 had no wish to let Engemann surprise his secret. Until he and 
 Marie appeared together in public the captain thought there was no 
 occasion to speak of his engagement to any one except Madame 
 Carouge. 
 
 "I must do something for that good lady," he said, slowly. " She 
 has been very kind. Well, I might offer her a bouquet— not such a 
 one as this, of course." He looked lovingly at his treasure, and 
 pulled at the tuft of hair on his chin. " Engemann might not like 
 it. Ha! ha! I need not trouble myself about him; he can only have 
 eyes for his widow. I cannot for the life of me conceive why he 
 was not at the soiree. If he does not look sharp, my wedding will 
 take place before his is settled." 
 
 But here he came in sight of the Red Glove ; the sun fell upon it 
 through the archway in front, and the hand looked redder and more 
 plethoric than usual. 
 
 If the captain had been imaginative he might have fancied that 
 the burly red emblem was ready to burst its three gilt buttons in 
 giving him a grip of friendly welcome. But it was the old story 
 of eyes and no eyes ; the captain saw no change in the glove. To 
 Marie this morning it had administered a shock. To her the Red 
 Glove had seemed scarlet with anger, and she could hardly believe 
 that it had not again pointed at her in mockery. 
 
 Last night Madame Bobineau had signed to her to enter the house 
 with her, and then, when the captain had shaken hands with them 
 and had gone up-stairs to his own rooms, the old woman had es- 
 corted Marie to her lodging. 
 
 "You must never go out at night by yourself, child," she said; 
 "it ruins a girl's character if she is seen out by herself in the dark 
 so late as this. " 
 
 Marie had been very absent to-day, and had made more than one 
 mistake in her duties, yet Madame Bobineau had only smiled.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 141 
 
 Ouce she had shaken her head, for Marie had shown kid gloves to 
 a customer who asked for gants de Suede; but on the whole the girl 
 was relieved to have escaped the scolding she had felt to be inevi- 
 table. She thought that the party must have sweetened Madame 
 Bobineau's temper. 
 
 "If she enjoyed it as much as I did, no wonder. What a mis- 
 take I had nearly made! I thought I should be miserable and fright- 
 ened, and that nice old man was so kind! I liked him so much! 
 It has all given me something to think about." She blushed; she 
 knew that she had been thinking far more about Monsieur Enge- 
 mann than of the party; she had so wondered at his absence; if he 
 had been there, it seemed to Marie that she should have been too 
 happy. She liked the captain, but she wished he would not stare 
 so much; but then the sisters had always told her that she must 
 never take up a prejudice against any one because of a special man- 
 ner — a manner of which the person was perhaps completely uncon- 
 scious. 
 
 In the case of Madame Carouge she had plainly made a mistake; 
 the widow was patronizing, but her kindness in giving her the flow- 
 ers had proved that she did not really dislike her — 
 
 The door opened, and Marie rose, ready to receive a customer. 
 Her eyes were at once attracted by the flowers which Captain Loi- 
 gerot carried ; she saw them almost before she recognized him. 
 
 He stood still and made her a low bow. 
 
 "I hope I see mademoiselle well," he said. Then to himself, 
 " What a little darling she looks!" Then, going up to the counter, 
 he shook hands with Marie. "I am sure mademoiselle has slept 
 well, she looks so — so bright." He stopped abruptly; he began to 
 be nervous. How was he to give her the flowers? He should have 
 asked Madame Carouge. He cleared his throat with an effort, and 
 at the sound the door of communication opened, and in came Ma- 
 dame Bobineau. 
 
 "Good-day, monsieur; it is so very kiud of monsieur to call," she 
 said, fawningly. "Mercy, what beautiful flowers!" 
 
 Loigerot gave a sigh of relief, and turned to Marie. "Does 
 mademoiselle also think these flowers beautiful?" he said, pufling 
 out his words, and keeping his eyes on her face, which was now 
 full of admiration. 
 
 "They are lovely," the girl said. "I did not know that there 
 were such beautiful flowers." She bent forward to smell them.
 
 142 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 The captain held out the nosegay. ' ' Mademoiselle, they are yours 
 if you will do me the great honor of accepting them." 
 
 She did not take the flowers ; instead, she pressed her hands ner- 
 vously together, and looked at the captain to see if he were in earnest. 
 "They are yours," he repeated, and he pressed the nosegay into 
 her hands. 
 
 " Oh, monsieur, how kind, how very kind!" Her eyes swam with 
 tears as she looked at him. "I don't know how to thank you;" 
 and then she hid her face in the flowers. 
 
 Loigerot pulled at the tuft of hair on his chin. " Sweet, innocent 
 creature !" he murmured. He had an idea that the correct thing 
 would be for him to kiss Marie; but at the same time she looked so 
 unconscious that he feared to alarm her. He glanced appealingly 
 at Madame Bobineau. 
 
 "Monsieur is indeed kind," said that worthy woman. "You 
 owe him many thanks, Marie." 
 
 The captain drew himself up, and planted his feet still farther 
 from each other. 
 
 "Mademoiselle"— he spoke very slowly; he felt that this was a 
 pregnant sentence— "I should say. Mademoiselle Marie Peyrolles, I 
 am delighted. You have thanked me in the most marked and also 
 in the best possible way by accepting this small offering. Mademoi- 
 Belle has gi-atifled me more than I can say." 
 
 He had been drawing out a huge red and yellow silk pocket- 
 handkerchief, and now he buried his nose in it. 
 
 " Marie "—Madame Bobineau seemed to be in a hurry— "will 
 you go to the kitchen and get some water? You will find a glass 
 vase there which will hold your nosegay. It is a shame to ieep 
 such flowers out of water." 
 
 Marie went away with her treasure, burying her face in the flow- 
 ers as she went. She had not felt so happy since she came to Berne. 
 She longed to kiss them every one, they were such lovely living 
 companions. She could not yet realize that they were her own. 
 
 Madame Bobineau came s(J close up to the captain that he felt just 
 a nttle nervous. Could it be part of the programme that he had to 
 kiss the guardian of his future wife? He looked at the grim face 
 now very near his, and he retreated a step. 
 " Dlahle!" he said: " I'd as soon kiss a toad." 
 Madame Bobineau's humility being only skin-deep, she was quite 
 unconscious of his repugnance. 
 
 I
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 143 
 
 "Monsieur," she whispered, "you must be very cautious; Mario 
 is not prepared. She is very shy, very childish, and your face is 
 too expressive." 
 
 "Confound it, madame !" — he spoke quickly enough now — "a 
 fellow can't help his looks at such a time. If I'd kissed her, now, 
 you might have — " 
 
 She put her skinny fingers on his arm. 
 
 "I hear her coming, monsieur; do not weaken the good impres- 
 sion you have made, by an imprudence." 
 
 " Then I may not kiss her?" 
 
 She raised her hands in protest; then as Marie pushed open the 
 glass door the old woman looked meaningly at the captain, and 
 kissed the back of her own brown shrivelled hand. 
 
 It seemed to Marie that she had not thanked him enough. She 
 placed the glass with the nosegay carefully on the counter, and then 
 she turned to him. 
 
 "Thank you ever so much, monsieur; I never had such a nose- 
 gay before. Ah, monsieur " — her shining eyes were so full of grati- 
 tude that Loigerot drew nearer; he thought he might at least take 
 her hand — "you are so kind," she said, "as kind to me as if you 
 Avere my father." 
 
 Loigerot started, and then bowed stiffly to hide his confusion. 
 
 "Mademoiselle is — easy to please." "Morbleit! this is harder 
 work than storming the Redan, " he thought. ' ' I must go and fortify 
 myself at the cafe." He bowed to Madame Bobineau and to Marie. 
 " Au revoir, madame," he said, and he left the shop. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 EUDOLP HEARS NEWS. 
 
 The bright summer afternoon had become more beautiful, the 
 hardness of the blue sky had softened, and though the sunbeams 
 shot volleys of brilliant light from between the tree - stems, long 
 shadows fell across the avenue, and gave a party-colored effect to 
 the three young men who walked along it in the direction of Berne. 
 
 His two fellow-clerks. Christen and Wengern, had met Engemann 
 at the Enge, and were walking home with him. As they came down 
 through the slanting shadows, sometimes Rudolf would be almost
 
 144 AT THE RED GLOVE, 
 
 eclipsed by the gloom, while the two others were revealed with 
 startling distinctness as the clear sunshine lit up their red, good- 
 tempered faces and straw hats ; then, in turn, they sank into ob- 
 scurity and Engemann was clearly revealed, tall and strong-look- 
 ing', but with just now a perplexed expression on his usually serene 
 face. 
 
 It seems as if big men, as a rule, have little talent for intrigue or 
 contrivances. Engemann wanted to get rid of his companions, and 
 yet he could hit upon no device by which to do it. He shrank from 
 showing his desire to be quit of them ; it might vex them, he thought ; 
 also he feared to make them suspicious. 
 
 " Somewhere hereabouts," said young Christen, whose slight boy- 
 ish figure made a strong contrast to his tall, robust companion, "is 
 the Bower of Bliss, in which our fair widow lived in old Carouge's 
 time. I believe the fellow was a regular Turk, and kept her shut 
 up here with a duenna." 
 
 "He wasn't a Turk, then," said Wengern; "that's a confusion 
 of ideas, and he would have had a choice of wives if he had been a 
 Turk. But where is this retreat? One ought to find it out." 
 
 He gave a furtive look at Engemann ; but the latter was staring 
 at the river far below the green bank and the road which lay be- 
 tween. He seemed not to have heard Wengern's suggestion. 
 
 He had, however, heard it distinctly, and his thoughts were full 
 of Madame Carouge. In these last days .she had faded out of his 
 reveries. Her glowing beauty and the dark, bewitching sweetness 
 of her liquid eyes had been replaced by a pure pale face with a color 
 as faint as the blush on an early rose; and clear gray truthful eyes 
 seemed to look at him, full of the unshrinking candor of childhood. 
 But in thinking of Marie, Engemann was conscious of a different 
 kind of contemplation from that evoked by the glowing image of 
 the widow. He did not think so much of Marie's looks. Although 
 he did not remind himself that the question of companionship had 
 been one of the obstacles that had held him back from the beautiful 
 widow, he knew that this young girl fully realized this idea. Enge- 
 mann did not consciously think about love for either of them; but 
 he felt that if he could afford to marry, he could go through life 
 happily with Marie. His only fear would be tlie difficulty of win- 
 ning love from so young and shy a creature. 
 
 His companions' talk now brought back vividly a vision of Ma- 
 dame Carouge — and Rudolf felt shocked by a sudden sense of in-
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 145 
 
 gratitude. One always receives a mental shock in finding that a 
 quality on which one has prided one's self is wanting, or that a 
 defect especially distasteful is present in one's mental constitution. 
 Engemann despised caprice, and yet he now felt convicted of it. 
 He could give absolutely no valid reason for the sudden slackening 
 of his interest in his beautiful friend. Only a week ago her image 
 had pursued him so persistently that he had had to banish it by a 
 strong effort so that it might not interfere with business, and now — 
 He felt much self-contempt as he recalled the occasions lately when 
 he had been glad to talk to Riesen or to some other acquaintance as 
 he came down the hotel stairs, so as to give himself an excuse for 
 shirking an interview to which a few days before he had looked 
 forward with eagerness. 
 
 He did not attempt self-deception ; he knew very well that it was 
 the sight of Marie, and the impression made on him by her sweet, 
 innocent ways, by her charming simplicity and frankness, that had 
 chilled his warm feeling for Madame Carouge. But he told him- 
 self, sternly, this was no valid reason, it was mere caprice, as un- 
 manly as it was contemptible in any man. His head sank with 
 shame on his breast as he remembered that in his own case it was 
 aggravated by the kindnesses which this beautiful woman had shown 
 him. 
 
 He had known her for six months, and from the beginning of 
 their acquaintance he had accepted benefits from her. When he 
 came a stranger to Berne it was Madame Carouge who had found 
 him his comfortable lodging at the Red Glove ; and when he told 
 her that his means were limited, she had arranged the price for him, 
 and had induced Madame Bobineau to lower her terms. 
 
 Indeed, the widow had taken all his troubles on herself. She had 
 lent him books, had asked him as a favor to use the free admissions 
 sent to her for concerts and other entertainments, on the plea that 
 her mourning prevented her from using them. Last, but certainly 
 before all the rest, he had once esteemed her kindness in admitting 
 him as an especially favored visitor to those quiet talks in the glass- 
 fronted parlor. Lately these had scarcely been mere talks. Enge- 
 mann remembered, and he reddened at the recollection, that he had 
 stood gazing at her, wondering at and enjoying the sight of her 
 beauty, as she leaned back with languid grace on her sofa, her dark 
 lashes resting on her velvet cheeks, then raised suddenly with a 
 
 wonderful glance, its fire quenched at once in liquid softness as she 
 
 6*
 
 146 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 met his eyes fixed on hers. The young fellow could only liken 
 the eyes of Madame Carouge to those of the Princess in the fairy 
 tale. 
 
 Yes, he had behaved heartlessly towards her; he had been most 
 neglectful. He would go and see her this evening. 
 
 "Engemann" — he started, and both the young fellows laughed, 
 for they had been watching his troubled face — "why were you not 
 at the party last night?" 
 
 "What party?" 
 
 "What! you have not even heard?" Christen rubbed his hands. 
 "Why, your friend Madame Carouge gave a party last night. 
 What have you done to the fair widow that she should not invite 
 you with the rest of her friends?" 
 
 Engemann was surprised, but he answered, quietly, "I suppose 
 Madame Carouge is at liberty to invite whom she pleases. Were 
 you present?" 
 
 "No; we heard of it from Lenoir. He says it was a small affair. 
 Riesen and his wife and Captain Loigerot were the only guests, 
 except your old witch of a landlady and her shop-girl. It is myste- 
 rious. I think the widow might have asked a young man or two, 
 if it was only for the sake of that pretty little girl." 
 
 Engemann stared ; the idea of Madame Bobineau at a party was 
 ridiculous. 
 
 "That chatterbox Lenoir was joking," he said; "he was stufllng 
 you to see how much you would both swallow." 
 
 "Aha!" Christen laughed. "The grapes are sour, my friend; 
 you must find them very sour, I am sure. Why, we all considered 
 you as good as betrothed to madame. " 
 
 "I have already told you. Christen" — Engemann spoke sternly 
 — "that I will not have this nonsense talked about me. You have 
 no right to couple any woman's name with mine. I tell you you 
 are altogether mistaken." 
 
 He fixed his blue eyes on the young fellow, and Christen shrank 
 from the gleam he saw in them. Wengern, however, interfered. 
 
 "Come, come, Engemann," he said, coolly, "it is all very well to 
 say ' I will, and I will not,' when the fellow you say it to is half 
 your size. Christen's is only a bit of chaff ; and, after all, a man 
 must pay for what he gets, whether it is success with a woman or 
 any other kind of success. Every one in the town knows that the 
 widow favors you among us all. I don't blame you for winning
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 147 
 
 her"— he laughed— "but don't you be angry and blame Christen 
 for chaffing you. Come along, Heinrich , he would rather be alone." 
 
 They both pulled off their straw hats, and walking quickly on, 
 they turned into a road that led them down beside the river. 
 
 Rudolf Engemann stood still. He was very angry for some min- 
 utes; then, as the fumes cleared, his judgment asserted itself, and 
 he felt like a fool. 
 
 " I have offended her, then, and she would not ask me. No; she 
 is too kind and gentle to be angry. She did not ask me because 
 she thought I should not care to go." 
 
 He set his teeth hard as he went briskly into Berne. Walking up 
 the Spitalgasse, in cool shadow now, for the tall houses made it im- 
 possible for the sun to reach the street, he remembered that the flip- 
 pant young fellow had said Madame Bobineau and Marie were at 
 the party. As he passed the Red Glove he looked in at the shop- 
 window. Marie was there, but he could not see her face ; it was 
 hidden in a bouquet of flowers that stood on the counter. She was 
 leaning over them. She seemed to be actually kissing the blossoms. 
 
 "Poor little thing! one sees she has been bred in the country," 
 he thought ; and he entered the house and went up- stairs to his 
 rooms. 
 
 He brushed his hair with extra care- parted not quite in the mid- 
 dle—if he had not kept it closely cropped it would have curled all 
 over his head, not in close woolly curls, but in sculpturesque curves. 
 As he brushed the hair the rich gold-color glowed, and his blue eyes 
 were almost black, the pupils had so dilated with the eagerness with 
 which he thought of Madame Carouge. 
 
 He reddened while he told himself that he had never affected 
 any warmer feeUng than friendship for her; and he wished their ac- 
 quaintance to continue on its present basis. She had always acted 
 like a friend towards him, and he would try to show his gratitude. 
 
 It was a relief to find that Wengern and Christen were not at the 
 table d'hOte. There had been a crowd of new arrivals, and Enge- 
 mann found his place occupied. He was moved too far away from 
 Captain Loigerot to give an opportunity of talking to him. 
 
 He left the table early. He was anxious not to miss Madame Ca- 
 rouge, and it was possible that some of these new-comers, many of 
 whom were ladies, might wish to speak to her as soon as dinner was 
 quite over. 
 
 Madame Carouge was anxiously waiting for him ; she knew by a
 
 148 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 secret prevision he would come, and .although she had resolved to 
 receive him coldly, she could not banisli the gladness that sounded 
 in her voice and smiled at him from her eyes and lips. 
 
 "I am glad to see you, monsieur." Then she straightened her 
 lips, and tried to remember his avoidance of her. 
 
 ' ' You cannot be more glad than I am, madame. " He kept the soft 
 hand in his vearm clasp an instant. " It seems so long since I have 
 seen you. I came to look for you twice, but you were absent." 
 
 She was so glad, so very glad, to be able to forgive him for his 
 seeming neglect. Engemann felt that he had never seen anything 
 so lovely as the look she gave him now. 
 
 "I am very sorry I missed you, and I feel guilty respecting you, 
 monsieur." 
 
 There was, he thought, a touching penitence in her rich voice. 
 
 "I can hardly fancy that, madame; the debt is, I assure you, on 
 my side." 
 
 She had been standing while she talked to him, and he had re- 
 mained near the door- way. Now, with a rapid glance at the clock 
 opposite her, she pointed to a chair just behind the door which 
 opened towards her sofa. 
 
 "I am going to tell you" — she seated herself, and smiled with 
 happiness when she saw that he imitated her — "that I invited a 
 few friends last night. I feel you may justly wonder why I left 
 you out." She paused, and swiftly glanced at him, but his face 
 only showed deep attention. " The truth is," she went on, "I had 
 a little plan in my mind with which your presence might have in- 
 terfered." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 Engemann felt puzzled, troubled too, without finding out the rea- 
 son ; for, as has been said, his perception was not rapid. 
 
 "You have, I think, seen Mademoiselle Peyrolles, the young re- 
 lation who has come to live with Madame Bobineau?" 
 
 Engemann felt it a little difficult to keep his eyes steady, she 
 looked at him so keenly; he merely bent his head in answer. 
 
 "Have you seen her lately, monsieur?" The tone of her voice 
 roused him, it was so different from her usual way of speaking. 
 
 "No," he said. "Oh yes ; I saw her just now as I passed the 
 shop ; but her face was buried in a nosegay," he added, with a 
 smile. 
 
 Madame Carouge got up quickly and went to the window, as if
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE. 149 
 
 she thought some one was awaiting her there. She felt stung al- 
 most to an outburst of jealous auger by this avowal that he actually 
 cared to look at Marie. 
 
 In a moment, however, it flashed upon her that he had made it 
 easier for her to tell her news. She turned on him with a bright 
 smile — the clock warned her that she must not delay. 
 
 " You met Captain Loigerot to-day with a nosegay, "I think?" she 
 said, fixing her eyes on his face. 
 
 Engemann laughed. 
 
 " Yes; I saw him making a sight of himself carrying an enor- 
 mous nosegay." 
 
 But as he spoke he remembered Marie over the flowers, and his 
 laughter ended. 
 
 "Ah! do not laugh at him. I admire his simple devotion; but 
 I forgot that you are not in his secret. Did he tell you to whom 
 he was carrying those flowers?" 
 
 She grew pale and then red as she spoke. Engemann's troubled 
 look had changed, his blue eyes gleamed with anger. Yes, there 
 could be no mistake about the expression that darkened them. 
 
 " Do you mean to say — " he began. 
 
 Madame Carouge raised her eyebrows slightly. She was listening 
 to the slam of the doors above, and the footsteps of some diners 
 could be heard coming down the stone staircase. 
 
 " I will tell you because I am sure you are discreet. I mean that 
 Monsieur Loigerot greatly admires this poor little Marie, and has, 
 in short, declared his wish to Madame Bobineau to marry her. I 
 need hardly say that the young person is very glad and grateful. 
 Surely you will not now call this attention of the captain's ridicu- 
 lous?—" 
 
 "It is much worse than ridiculous, it is monstrous," Engemann 
 said, rudely breaking in on her speech. "Why, he is old enough 
 to be her father." 
 
 She gave him such a pitying smile. 
 
 " That is how it looks to you and to me, but it is not surprising 
 to find that things appear quite differently when viewed under a 
 different light. I could tell you, monsieur, how a young girl " — a 
 buzz of voices sounded outside — "no, not now," she said, quickly. 
 "It is plain, however, that this poor little shop-girl does not feel 
 the disparity of age as we might feel it ; she accepts it willingly ; 
 she does not think our friend ridiculous, I assure you. You should
 
 150 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 have seen her last night; she looked charming, though, indeed, she 
 had not a word for any one but her admirer ; she sat beside him, 
 apart from us all, talking and laughing all the evening. It was de- 
 lightful to see her happiness." 
 
 Rudolf rose ; he could not trust himself to answer. He heard 
 steps coming nearer and nearer; next moment the round, beaming 
 face of Captain Loigerot appeared in the door-way. 
 
 "Congratulate him," the widow whispered. 
 
 "Not now," he answered, in the same tone; " I will take another 
 opportunity. Good-evening, madame." 
 
 He nodded to Loigerot and passed out of sight. 
 
 "Well, madame, it goes well." The captain was rubbing his 
 hands, and looking broader and more beaming than ever. Then, 
 recollecting himself: "I hope you have recovered from last night's 
 fatigues, madame." 
 
 "Perfectly, I thank you. I am glad you have prospered." Then 
 she looked over his head, thankful to see Moritz in advance of a 
 tall, high-nosed, elderly English Mees, who looked capable of walk- 
 ing over the captain. " Monsieur," said Madame Carouge, " I will 
 not detain you. I have the honor of wishing you good-evening." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN TO THE KESCUE. 
 
 Marie had been so used to sympathy, that if Madame Bobineau 
 had shown her any affection she would now have gone to her for 
 counsel ; but the girl was so young and inexperienced that she had 
 a dread of ridicule, and she had not been long enough accustomed 
 to her old cousin's repelling ways to have overcome the timidity 
 they had created. 
 
 Captain Loigerot had returned later, and had chatted pleasantly 
 to her and to the old woman ; but when he took his leave he bent 
 over the girl's hand and kissed it. 
 
 At this jVIarie had grown red till her eyes seemed scorched by her 
 flaming cheeks; then she looked at Madame Bobineau; but she had 
 turned her back and was following the captain out of the shop. 
 
 She stood talking to him on the door-step, and then went in next 
 door to pay a visit to her friend the pastry-cook, and when she came
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 151 
 
 in she presented Marie with two frosted cakes, which she said the 
 mistress of the cake shop had sent her. She made no remark about 
 the packet under her arm, which had really been given her for her 
 "little cousin." Madame Bobineau considered that Marie was get- 
 ting more than was good for her — there was no need to spoil her. She 
 had intended to give the girl a few hints with regard to her behav- 
 ior towards the captain, but as she looked in Marie's face she 
 changed her mind, and at once retreated to her parlor. 
 
 By the time they met at supper the girl had decided not to confide 
 her vexation. 
 
 "I must depend on myself," she thought ; "I am old enough. 
 After all, the old man meant no harm. It is only because no one 
 ever kissed my hand before that 1 mind so much." 
 
 But next morning she would not go out to the Muntz Platz to gaze 
 at her beloved mountains, she so feared to meet the captain there. 
 
 As she went into the glove shop, the flowers, which she had left, 
 by Madame Bobineau's advice, on the counter, seemed at once to 
 give her a loving welcome and to reproach her for her ingratitude. 
 
 She wished now she had gone out to look at the mountains. The 
 morning was so bright and clear that they would have been plainly 
 visible. She dusted her counter and Madame Bobineau's desk and 
 the shelves and boxes, and then she sat down and enjoyed the 
 sight of her nosegay. Some of the roses had opened since yester- 
 day, and were yet more beautiful, while the fragrance and the color 
 of all seemed to turn the dull commonplace shop into a sort of 
 paradise. 
 
 Marie drew one half -opened pink rose gently from the rest, and 
 fastened it near her throat so that she could smell it. She did not 
 realize the sudden brightening it gave to her poor brown gown, and 
 how charmingly it matched the delicate color in her cheek. 
 
 When Madame Bobineau came to call her in to breakfast, she ex- 
 claimed, loudly, "How beautiful those flowers are yet! how sweet 
 they smell ! Mercy, j\Iarie, you are fortunate ; it is not every girl 
 who meets with such attention ; but then he is wealthy, the captain 
 is," she went on, as she saw ]\Iarie listening. " Such a gift as this 
 is nothing to him; he has a country house, and a garden, and an 
 orchard, and an olive-yard, and a wood, and land besides." 
 
 "And is his garden near Berne?" Marie's eyes sparkled. "Do 
 you think, madame," she went on, timidly, "that those beautiful 
 flowers came from his garden?"
 
 153 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Madame Bobineau shrugged her shoulders and pushed out her 
 lower lip. "You little simpleton! Come to breakfast, " she said, 
 in so derisive a tone that Marie shrank into herself with conscious 
 ignorance. 
 
 As soon as she was seated at breakfast, Madame Bobineau went 
 on, with her mouth full of bread: " Why, child, you ought to learn 
 the value of things. Such flowers as you have there are not grown 
 out-of-doors; the roses may be, but the delicate ones come from a 
 glass house, and I'll be bound the carnations grew under shelter. 
 You have only to look at the arrangement of the nosegay to be sure 
 that the captain paid a pretty price for it— five or six francs, I'll 
 wager. You did not thank him half enough," she said, plunging 
 her spoon into a brown-looking mass, which she called pear mar- 
 malade, but which Marie thought tasted like furniture polish ; it 
 was, however, reputed wholesome, and it saved butter and honey, 
 and Marie had learned by this time that she was expected to eat it. 
 
 She did not answer the old woman's reproach ; she sat trying to 
 decide whether she had been wanting in gratitude to the captain, 
 for she was not disposed to take Madame Bobineau's view of a 
 
 subject. 
 
 By dinner-time she had come to the conclusion that she would 
 not thank Captain Loigerot again, but that she would be extra kind 
 to him on his next visit. She did not like the thought that he had 
 spent so much money on her, but it was extremely kind of him to 
 have tried to give her pleasure. 
 
 No one came this afternoon to the Red Glove.. Marie had her 
 flowers to look at, and she was full of pleasant anticipation, for 
 Madame Bobineau had promised to take her to - morrow to the 
 Schanzli. That, too, would be a pleasure suggested by the kind 
 captain. It seemed to Marie that his influence must have had 
 something to do with the extraordinary change in Madame Bobi- 
 neau's behavior. She was certainly not lovable, but she had left 
 ofi scolding and saying the cruel, bitter things which had at first 
 frozen the girl into a dull silence foreign to her nature. Just now 
 the old woman had even smiled when she came into the shop. 
 
 "Go and get me some snuff with this, there's a good child," she 
 said, putting some money into Marie's hand. 
 
 Marie went out and bought the snuff at a shop not far from the 
 Red Glove, and coming back she wondered whether Monsieur Enge- 
 mann would go to the Schanzli to-morrow. She had thought of
 
 AT THE IlED GLOVE. 153 
 
 Lim all day yesterday. She decided that he was not going to marry 
 Madame Caroiige; his absence from the soiree had convinced her 
 that Madame Bobineau was mistaken about this. In a very short 
 time the girl had discovered that her cousin was careless about 
 truth, and smiUngly she told herself that Madame Bobineau had 
 got up this little deception to prevent her from becoming interest- 
 ed in her young lodger. Certainly, as Marie owned to herself, the 
 idea that he was going to marry a rich woman older than he was 
 had chilled the strong attraction she had felt towards him last Sun- 
 day at the Bear Pit. But since then each time she had seen him 
 his manner had been kinder; there had been in it something special, 
 quite different from the manner of any one else, and certainly she 
 liked him better than any one she had ever seen. It was a relief to 
 think he was not going to marry the rich widow. She wished to 
 see him again. 
 
 She opened the shop door and stood still — it seemed as if her 
 wish had created its fulfilment. Monsieur Engemann was standing 
 beside the counter looking fixedly at the captain's nosegay. 
 
 Marie's heart beat quickly; she did not know how glad her face 
 was; in truth, her heart was looking out at her eyes, and if Rudolf 
 had not been blinded by jealous anger he would have read truth 
 and love, too, in them. But he was beside himself with anger, and 
 he attributed the sweet, glad look to vanity, a mere desire to attract. 
 Madame Carouge's news had torn a veil from his consciousness, and 
 in a moment of agony he had learned that he loved. Never before 
 had he felt towards any woman what he now felt for this callous, 
 mercenary girl who was going to sell herself to Loigerot. He had 
 felt an absolute need of self-restraint, and had scarcely spoken to 
 any one all day. His fellow-clerks decided that the widow had 
 given him the sack, and that the disappointment had upset his 
 liver, for he could not eat his breakfast, and he looked wretchedly 
 ill. At last reaction came ; he made up his mind that he was a fool 
 to believe in the report of others. He resolved to go to the Red 
 Glove and ask Marie if she really had promised herself to the cap- 
 tain; but while he stood in the shop waiting for her his resolve 
 lost its firmness. 
 
 By what right could he ask such a question ? He had given 
 Marie no cause to suppose he loved her — if, indeed, he had loved 
 her before he heard this news. He had felt without owning it that 
 she understood him, and it was his faith in her liking for him that
 
 154 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Lad made it so impossible for him to believe that she could promise 
 herself to Loigerot, but the sight of the nosegay had overwhelmed 
 him. 
 
 "I have the honor of saying good-day, mademoiselle;" and he 
 pulled off his hat ceremoniously. 
 
 Marie wondered he did not shake hands. The sudden glow that 
 had come at sight of him turned cold, and left her timid. She was 
 conscious of a change in him, but she could not guess at its cause. 
 She thought the best way would be to ask if she had vexed him. 
 She looked up at him, and she saw that his eyes were fixed on her 
 nosegay. In her fear she uttered the worst words she could have 
 chosen: "Are they not beautiful flowers, monsieur?" She looked 
 conscious and shy as she raised the vase that he might smell the 
 roses. 
 
 "Beautiful! Oh yes." He drew away. "I do not care for them." 
 
 He walked across the shop, and while Marie stood pale and dis- 
 concerted by his abruptness, Madame Bobineau came bustling for- 
 ward. Rudolf did not see her at first. He stood battling with his 
 anger; in his heart he was calling Marie au artful flirt, no better 
 than any ordinary shop-girl. If she did not mean to encourage the 
 captain she would not cherish his gifts. lie longed to unmask her, 
 and tell her what he thought of her conduct. Heavens ! now he 
 looked again he saw she was wearing one of the roses at her throat! 
 
 "Good-morning, monsieur, "a well-known harsh voice said at his 
 elbow. "How well you look this morning! Do you think we 
 shall have a fine day to-morrow, monsieur ? I hope so, for I am 
 going in the evening to the Schanzli with Marie, and if it is fine 
 and clear we shall see the sun set on the Alps." 
 
 "I hope the weather may be as fine as you wish, madame." 
 Eugemann did not look at Marie, but he saw that she was bending 
 over the obnoxious nosegay ; her face was actually hidden by the 
 blossoms. "By heavens! she is kissing those flowers under my 
 eyes!" the angry young fellow said to himself. 
 
 Really, Marie had begun to cry with vexation ; she w^as sure now 
 that Monsieur Engemann was angry with her, and she should never 
 know why; she had lost the chance of an explanation with him; 
 he would go away still angry with her. She felt desperate. 
 
 "You are very kind," she heard Madame Bobineau say, in answer 
 to his wish ; " but I think you also have a special reason for desir- 
 ing a fine Sunday. "
 
 AT THE EED GLOVE. 155 
 
 Marie saw how slyly the old woman looked at Monsieur Enge- 
 mann. 
 
 "I, madame? Oh yes; I am going to Thun with Monsieur and 
 Madame Riesen." 
 
 The girl again bent her face into the flowers, and listened in- 
 tently. 
 
 Madame Bobineau laughed. "Aha! monsieur, we have heard 
 all about it: we know who else is going to Thun with you, and we 
 wish the happy pair a happy day; don't we, child?" 
 
 Marie looked up, puzzled, while Engemann, moved by a sudden 
 impulse, turned and gazed at her. She forced a smile. "Yes," 
 she said, simply. "I have heard that Thun is a beautiful place; is 
 it not, monsieur?" 
 
 Rudolf asked himself what she meant by this. 
 
 Madame Bobineau stood fidgeting, with an anxious look on her 
 face ; then she moved quickly to the shop door, and beckoned. 
 She had seen the captain pass the shop, and she guessed that he 
 would go up to his rooms before he presented himself. ' ' Come in, 
 monsieur," she said; "you are wanted." 
 
 It seemed to the mistress of the Red Glove that Monsieur Enge- 
 mann looked at Marie in a way she had not expected, and that the 
 captain's presence at such a juncture would put matters on a right 
 footing. 
 
 Meantime Monsieur Engemann answered the girl's question. 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle, the lake is beautiful." His voice was hoarse, 
 and he stopped to clear his throat before he went on speaking ; then 
 he looked at the nosegay. "I wish you happiness also," he said, 
 bitterly. " You love flowers, I see." 
 
 His tone frightened her again. 
 
 "Why is he so angry?" she thought; then, in a timid voice, 
 "Monsieur, I — " 
 
 She raised her eyes to his just as Madame Bobineau came back, 
 with the captain at her heels. 
 
 Loigerot bowed all round ; then he went and stood between his 
 tall friend and Marie, and the girl felt that her last hope was over. 
 A sudden feeling of dislike made her turn away from the captain, 
 but Engemann judged that this was confusion at the sight of her 
 lover. 
 
 "Aha, my friend," the captain said, smiling, "I have heard news 
 about you; I congratulate you." He shook his head, and tried to
 
 156 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 look roguish. "I hope you and your charming widow will have 
 a fine day at Thun to-morrow. You are a lucky fellow. Morbleu ! 
 you have thrown double-sixes." He laughed slowly. Then he 
 edged himself closer, and said, in a lower voice: "And I too— am 
 / not a lucky fellow ? Do you not congratulate me, my friend?" 
 
 He pointed to Marie, and laid his finger on his coarse mustache. 
 
 "Nonsense! nonsense!" Engemann pushed past him impatient- 
 ly, and went out of the shop, while Marie stood pressing one hand 
 on her heart. She felt bewildered; she could not understand the 
 meaning of the talk she had heard, unless, indeed, it meant that 
 Madame Bobineau had been right after all. 
 
 Tiie captain laughed loudly. 
 
 " He's off like a shell, madame. Well, well, he can't stand a joke. 
 I knew fast enough what all those private talks over jMadame Ca- 
 rouge's desk would end in. But it will be an excellent marriage; 
 he and our beautiful widow will make a fine couple. " 
 
 Marie stood violently trembling. She could not tell what ailed 
 her. but she longed to run away and hide herself. She scarcely 
 heard Madame Bobineau say, 
 
 " Yes, they are well matched— could not be better." 
 
 The captain walked across the shop, his hands stuffed into his 
 pockets, while Madame Bobineau regaled herself with a huge pinch 
 of snuff. 
 
 Loigerotwent on: "I have had my suspicions for some time past. 
 I have always had a keen eye for this sort of thing, a sort of instinct, 
 I may say. Well, he's a worthy young fellow, and he will make a 
 devoted husband; and she is rich and handsome. Does not made- 
 moiselle consider Madame Carouge handsome?" 
 
 He went up to Marie. 
 
 Her eyes were wild as she looked at him. " I— oh yes, monsieur, 
 I think so." " If he would only go!" she thought, desperately. "I 
 must run away if he stands there staring at me. I don't like him 
 half as well as I did at the party." 
 
 The captain turned pompously to Madame Bobineau. 
 
 "May I be permitted," he said, gravely, "to salute mademoi- 
 selle?" 
 
 The old woman nodded and smiled, but she answered, in a 
 whisper, 
 
 " Only her hand. She is not very well to-day, but take no no- 
 tice."
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 157 
 
 He went up to Marie and took her hand. As he bent his head 
 to it she pulled it away. 
 
 He looked at her; then he gave her an adoring smile. "Sweet 
 and shy, hke a dove," he murmured. "Ah, she is an angel!" 
 
 Then he went back to Madame Bobineau, while the girl said to 
 herself, " What does it all mean? — oh, what does it mean?" 
 
 "Madame" — the captain spoke in his most pompous manner — 
 ' ' I believe the correct thing is for me to attend you and mademoi- 
 selle to high mass to-morrow. I — aw — propose to myself to call, 
 in order to escort you. Au revoir, madarne, et mademoiselle, a de- 
 main." 
 
 He made many bows, and then, kissing his fingers to Marie, he 
 departed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 AT THUN. 
 
 There was no mistake about the sunshine. It blazed down 
 with an intense, scorching radiance. It was now about ten o'clock, 
 so one could give a tolerably correct guess as to the sun's power a 
 few hours later. The arcades in front of the houses partly baffled 
 it, but through the openings it shone fiercely on every person and 
 thing that came in its way. The atmosphere throbbed with the 
 force of its rays; they seemed to rejoice the broad face of the clock 
 on the old tower beside the hotel ; the gilt hand on the dial glittered ; 
 the red ogre on the Kindlifressen Fountain looked ruddier than 
 ever, and the water in the basin below him felt tepid. 
 
 At this moment Monsieur and Madame Riesen emerged from the 
 arcade on the same side as the Hotel Beauregard; they actually 
 ran across the open space which intervened, to escape the scorch- 
 ing heat, for though each of them carried a brown hoUand gi-een- 
 lined sun-shade, they had neglected to open these. 
 
 "Mein Gott!"— Riesen stopped to wipe his face— "this is too 
 much ; if there were not an awning to the boat, we could not vent- 
 ure on the lake to-day. Aha! good-morning, Monsieur Engemann. 
 Am I not a true prophet? Is the day fine enough to please you?" 
 
 Engemann nodded and smiled, and then he greeted Madame 
 Riesen. 
 
 "So glad to see you!" Her dull, fiat face was full of effusive
 
 158 AT TUE RED GLOVE. 
 
 politeness as she shook hands. To herself, as she led the way into 
 the hotel and up the stairs, she was saying, "Poor young fellow! a 
 regular victim to that vain widow; and she'll get tired of him: as 
 soon as they are married she'll want a fresh admirer — that she will: 
 I know her." 
 
 Looking up, she saw her hostess standing at the open door of the 
 salle d manger, and instantly the most adoring smile spread over 
 her face. 
 
 "How charming you look, dear Madame Carouge!" she said. 
 
 And it was true ; Madame Carouge looked more than usually at- 
 tractive. She wore a large black hat which threw a shadow over 
 her face, and gave it a bewitching charm. 
 
 The salle at this hour was vacant ; visitors breakfasted either in 
 their rooms or in the breakfast-room below, and Madame Carouge 
 led the way to the coolest corner of the long room. Here was a 
 round table spread for four, and crowned with a glowing pyramid 
 of peaches and grapes. 
 
 Riesen's grave face beamed and he licked his colorless lips. 
 
 "I believe, my friends"— he looked at the widow — "I may call 
 myself the commander of this expedition, and I give you all notice 
 that if we mean to travel by the eleven-o'clock train we have no 
 time to spare ; we must not talk while we eat. " 
 
 "Do but listen to Eugene," his wife said, mockingly, "and he is 
 the one who is sure to talk with his mouth full. I tell him he will 
 choke himself some day." 
 
 The clockmaker might have spared his warning. Neither Madame 
 Carouge nor Rudolf Engemann was inclined to talk. The wid- 
 ow's thoughts were full of words which she fully hoped to speak 
 by-and-by. If she did not speak them, life would be very dreary, 
 empty of the hope that had kept her thoughts fixed on this day. 
 She had so longed for it to come, and now it was here, and she and 
 Rudolf Engemann were to spend it together. 
 
 Her blood ran riotously through her veins; a rich color glowed on 
 her cheeks; she dared not trust herself to talk. Her guests were 
 drinking champagne, but she scarcely sipped at the glass which 
 Moritz had filled for her. She could have laughed for joy. But 
 this was only a part of her mood ; it w^as as varied as the effect of 
 the sunshine on the arcades, and the spaces between them. What 
 if the day proved a failure ! — if Rudolf Engemann only cared for 
 its enjoyment as a holiday, not because it involved companicmship
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 159 
 
 with her! Perhaps she looked most beautiful in this part of her 
 mood, full of pensive grace, her dark eyes veiled by the long up- 
 curving lashes. She was too much absorbed to wonder at Enge- 
 mann's silence, which was attributed by the observing clockmaker 
 and his wife to the young fellow's wish to enjoy his excellent 
 breakfast. 
 
 Engemann ate and drank like a machine. His ideas were still in 
 the confused state which had followed his sudden enlightenment 
 about Marie. Besides the pain which Madame Carouge had inflict- 
 ed last night, he had suffered another shock. Over and over again 
 he had sternly asked himself what he meant by being such a fool, 
 and the only clear idea that manifested itself, in the sort of mental 
 chaos which had settled on him like a pall, was that he loved this 
 trifling, shallow girl, and that her image would haunt his life. 
 
 Like many another man who perceives slowly and feels strongly, 
 Rudolf had been utterly blind and unconscious while the poison or 
 magic — call it which you please — had been quietly and surely 
 doing its work. Too simple to indulge in self-study, he had not 
 guessed at his power of winning love. Even the assurances he had 
 received from others that he could win the widow if he chose had 
 never dwelt in his mind. So far as regarded himself, love had not 
 presented itself objectively. He had considered marriage for him 
 impossible; a girl suited to him as a companion would not relish 
 the narrow life he could ask her to share on his present meagre sal- 
 ary. And when he had once thought this out, he had put the idea 
 away, and had resolved to concentrate all his powers on becoming 
 a good man of business. 
 
 / Perhaps no one quality or feeling has been as much written about 
 in poetry and prose as love has, and yet, after all, no one has ever 
 explained it, or has succeeded in defining its rise and progress. It 
 remains a perplexing mystery— lawless and yet perfect; unreason- 
 able and capricious in its manifestation ; yet when it is real and 
 true, partaking of the same divine origin as genius, for true love can 
 ^y be quenched by death. . The best solution seems to be found 
 iBr~the fabled love philter; and to Rudolf and Marie, in different 
 degrees, it seemed as if a power beyond the influence of their own 
 will had taken them suddenly captive; in one moment the true 
 meaning of the attraction each had felt for the other had been re- 
 vealed. 
 
 The discovery affected them differently. The girl was cast down
 
 160 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 with shame and sorrow at discovering that she loved a man who be- 
 longed to another woman. Engemann's feelings were far more 
 complex. Loigerot's noisy congratulations had fallen on deaf ears 
 — he had heard, but he had not grasped the meaning of the words. 
 The terrible truth about Marie had stunned him, confirming what 
 he had persuaded himself was only rumor and the mistaken kind- 
 ness of Madame Carouge. 
 
 "What a fool he had been ! While he had suffered himself to be 
 led on by this miserable girl to believe in her simplicity and candor, 
 she had been thinking how to get married as soon as she could, to 
 free herself from her position at the Red Glove; and probably she 
 had used him as a bait. He remembered that Wengern had said, 
 one day, " You are sweet on Bobineau's shop-girl." They had all 
 seen it and known it, then, and he had been a blind idiot; Marie had 
 seen it from the first, and then when she knew that he was aware of 
 her treachery, she had affected sorrow. 
 
 He had resolved last night never to think of Marie again . . . and 
 now he turned as if he was stung, and looked up as if he hoped to 
 get distraction from his companions. 
 
 There was a salon through the folding-doors at the end of the 
 dining-room, and the two ladies had gone there, and they stood be- 
 fore one of the long mirrors giving themselves a final look. 
 
 Riesen's face was purple as the young fellow looked up, for he had 
 nearly swallowed a stone in his effort to eat as many peaches as pos- 
 sible while the ladies were away. He patted Engemann's shoulder 
 as he recovered himself. 
 
 "I give you free leave to talk now, my friend; you have been very 
 obedient. It has been an excellent breakfast. Will you conduct 
 Madame Riesen to the railway-station? I am not going to interfere, 
 you know " — he looked at the young fellow, and half closed his deep- 
 set eyes — ' ' oh dear, no ; but I have to receive my instructions from 
 madame for the day's programme." 
 
 Eugemann turned away to hide his annoyance. He did not choose 
 to be joked about Madame Carouge. But Madame Riesen kept up 
 such a series of questions as they walked to the station that she left 
 him no time to think; he had to fix his attention so as to answer 
 correctly. 
 
 There was some unnecessary fuss about taking the tickets and dis- 
 tributing them, a good deal of noise from the engine, and then they 
 rolled quietly out of Berne in a small compartment of a railway-car-
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE, 161 
 
 riage, with only room for four passengers, two on each side of the 
 way left for the conductor to pass up and down. 
 
 Engemann sat beside Madame Carouge, but at first it was not easy 
 to talk; there was too much noise. She was so happy that the si- 
 lence suited her. She wanted to enjoy the bliss of being beside him, 
 alone with him; for they were out of earshot of their companions. 
 
 He looked out of the window, and she looked at him. How noble 
 his face was! she thought; how full of truth and manliness! what 
 bliss it would be to go through life with him, his willing slave! for 
 in his presence she seemed to have no will, scarcely a separate ex- 
 istence ; what he willed she felt must be her law. 
 
 She was glad that the young fellow did not turn round at that 
 moment, for she felt that her eyes were full of love, and she shrank 
 from seeming to seek him. His manner yesterday had troubled her, 
 but Madame Carouge had some insight into a man's heart. 
 
 Something told her that Rudolf Engemann was far too proud to 
 go on caring for a girl who had thrown him over for Captain Loi- 
 gerot; it was also more than possible that Rudolf had never really 
 cared for Marie, but merely resented the idea of the match because 
 the girl was so young. 
 
 "He looks too true to be double-faced," she thought; every mo- 
 ment of this glowing, rose-tinted mood was lessening her doubts, 
 "I have more than once seen his eyes full of admiration for me," 
 
 Just then he spoke. 
 
 " Look, madame." 
 
 He put his head out of the window, and she leaned out too ; the 
 train had reached the suspension-bridge high above the swift blue- 
 green Aar. There was the river far below them, rushing on be- 
 tween lofty grassed banks fringed with alleys of poplars; some 
 women were hanging clothes to dry on a line that reached from tree 
 to tree, and the linen gleamed in the sunshine that gilded the river. 
 In the stream were carts drawn by powerful-looking horses; men, 
 with huge boots reaching to their middle, were shovelling stones 
 from the river-bed into the carts. The houses and churches of 
 Berne showed pleasantly among the tall trees on the top of the right 
 bank. As the eye travelled on beyond the blue-green river, it stop- 
 ped at a line of dazzling silver in the sky. The giant snow-moun- 
 tains for once showed themselves without a cloud to break the 
 magnificent outline of their range; the delicate shadows that lay on 
 them here and there only served to add intensity to their silvery 
 
 7
 
 163 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 lustre, but these shadows were as full of color as if reflected from a 
 rainbow. 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 And then a deep sigh came unconsciously from Engemann. 
 
 Madame Carouge had not spoken; she was too happy in the one- 
 ness which this silent gaze at the scene had created. The wind 
 which ruffled the hair on her forehead brought Engemann's deep 
 breathing to her cheek. She was looking her delight and admira- 
 tion, but his sigh made her forget self ; it gave her the key she had 
 been seeking. Till now there had been a barrier fencing her ojff 
 from access to his feelings ; it seemed to her, as his handsome blue 
 eyes grew almost black at the glorious spectacle of mountain and 
 river, that she could see the heart-stir of which it was the manifesta- 
 tion: he worshipped the beautiful. 
 
 She closed her eyes softly, for big tears sprang into them as the 
 thought came. At last her happiness was near. 
 
 When she looked again, the dazzling vision had disappeared. She 
 drew in her head and sat down. There was another peep as they 
 passed the Schanzli, and then the mountains vanished. 
 
 Madame Riesen's cackle made itself heard from time to time, but 
 the widow and her companion were silent. 
 
 At last she turned to him. "You have climbed some of those 
 mountains, have you not, monsieur? you Swiss are so brave and ad- 
 venturous." 
 
 "I have only been up the Moleson, our big mountain near Fri- 
 bourg, but it is not much of a climb. No, madame ; my life has 
 been very tame and commonplace." 
 
 "Ah, but " — her eyes glowed with admiration — " I am sure it has 
 been more stirring than mine has been : I have lived like a caged 
 bird." 
 
 " Really?" he looked at her with interest and astonishment. Sure- 
 ly this beautiful, self-possessed woman must have seen more of the 
 world than he had. Just now her face was so full of varied expres- 
 sion, Rudolf felt as if he were reading a story in it. " Should you 
 like to travel?" he said. He began to feel that it was very soothing 
 to his sore, perplexed feelings to bask in the sunshine her beautiful 
 eyes were shedding on his face — sunshine without any bitterness to 
 turn it into delusive mockery. 
 
 "If travelling would be like this journey, then I should indeed 
 love it — " She checked herself, and added quickly: "I mean that
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 163 
 
 to-day is such perfect holiday, such a change from my usual life. I 
 have no fear that Moritz will come to me with a grave face to say 
 that the chef is ill, or else that good bedrooms are wanted at once, 
 and that not one is vacant. Kh^mon Dieu!" she laughed gayly. 
 "Pardon me; but you see the bird is out of the cage to-day, mon- 
 sieur, so you must expect me to be a little wild." 
 
 " You will always be charming." He could not help saying this. 
 She looked radiant with happiness ; it shone in her eyes and glowed 
 on her lips and cheeks. "I suppose travelling must be delightful," 
 he went on, " or people would not travel as they do for pleasure." 
 
 Then they drifted into silence again. But Rudolf felt still more 
 soothed; he began to look forward to their arrival at Thun; and it 
 was a relief to be able to keep his thoughts away from Marie. 
 
 Monsieur Riesen had strained his ears to listen to their talk, but 
 he had not succeeded in hearing a sentence. He had given his wife 
 captious or cynical answers, and she was dumb now ; she felt vexed 
 with his unkindness. The poor woman too well knew that he pre- 
 ferred to look at the beautiful widow, and that she was a bore to him 
 this morning, and this is not a pleasant sensation for a wife con- 
 scious that she has always been plain, and has lost even the charm 
 of youth. 
 
 At last Riesen's impatience broke loose. " Look out. Monsieur 
 Engemann; this is the finest point, and you are missing it all." 
 
 For as they sat with their backs to the engine, the beauty of the 
 near approach to Thun was lost on them. 
 
 Rudolf and Madame Carouge leaned out the window together, 
 and a cry of admiration broke from them at the grand view of the 
 mountains on either side. He turned to her, but she went on gaz- 
 ing. The keen air from the mountains ruffled her hair and deepened 
 the rich nectarine-like tint on her cheeks, while her glowing dark 
 eyes were half veiled by their long lashes. As the young fellow 
 gazed at her with admiration, he thought how perfectly her sombre, 
 graceful dress suited her brilliant beauty. 
 
 " You have been here before?" She raised her eyes suddenly and 
 met his admiring gaze. 
 
 " Only once " — he put up his hand to keep his hat from being car- 
 ried off by the wind — "but the day was cloudy. And you, have 
 you ever seen this view?" 
 
 "Yes" — a sad expression filled her eyes, and they drooped — "I 
 came once with my husband. I do not care to recall that journey."
 
 164 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Her voice sounded pathetic. 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Engemann did not know what to say. He went on looking at 
 the mountains, but he thought of Madame Carouge. He wondered 
 if she had loved this husband. He supposed she had, or she would 
 not be sad in speaking of time spent with him ; and then he remem- 
 bered that Monsieur Carouge had been dead only a year and a half. 
 "She does not look like a mourner," he thought, as his eyes fol- 
 lowed the lines of her elegant dress. 
 
 It was very pleasant to him to look at her; and it seemed to him 
 that beside her he was drifting away from the sadness that had op- 
 pressed him. It was not conquered; he felt dimly that it lay in 
 ambush ready to attack him, and that something in his beautiful 
 companion shielded him from the grasp it was ready to lay on him ; 
 but Rudolf only apprehended this mistily; he had not yet recovered 
 from the shock he had sustained. This exquisite relief had come 
 to him without any mental effort to seek it, and the strange power 
 there lies in sjrmpathy had cast its spell over him. It was flattering 
 to find that Madame Carouge saw everything as he did, and he ac- 
 cepted this oneness of taste in good faith. 
 
 They were both very sorry when the train stopped at Thun. 
 
 Riesen would not let them pause to gaze at the snow-mountains 
 from the platform, and they walked up the road from the station 
 four abreast, admiring the charming little town. Soon they came 
 to the bridge. The blue-green Aar made a deafening noise as it 
 rushed over a weir beneath another quaint covered bridge. This 
 bridge crossed an arm of the river, and circling round the houses 
 on this side, made a little island. Chief among these houses was 
 a large square building, an inn arcaded on the lower story, and with 
 an open court-yard within. 
 
 The high roof was crowned with a clock and belfry. On the left, 
 quaint houses bordered the river on both sides. Some of the eaves 
 projected like hoods over the tiers of balconies below. The win- 
 dow-sills were gay with flowers; the sunshine glittered on every- 
 thing — on the white and yellow fronts of the houses, rising one be- 
 hind another till they reached the summit of the steep hill; on the 
 striped white and orange blinds; on the children at play on the bal- 
 conies. Amid a group of dark trees showed out vividly the old 
 castle of the lords of Zahringen, with its square-centred red-roofed 
 tower surrounded by tourelles ; a little way nearer, nestling in its
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 165 
 
 luxuriant church-yard, was the pointed red spire and eight-sided 
 tower of the church. 
 
 They crossed the bridge, and as they turned into the High Street, 
 Riesen dexterously contrived to place himself beside Madame Ca- 
 rouge, and Engemann fell back with Madame Riesen. The young 
 fellow felt in spirits now to enjoy the view of the gayly colored, 
 picturesque place. The broad, projecting eaves of the tall houses 
 cast a pleasant shade over the house fronts and their bright orange 
 window-blinds; they also sheltered the footway raised to the first 
 story on each side of the street. This footway was bordered with 
 flowers and tall shrubs, which seemed to be straining over the edge 
 to get all possible light and heat. Now and then the sunshine 
 glinted on the wares set outside the shop fronts on the raised foot- 
 way. The shops below, on a level with the street itself, were of an 
 inferior kind, and many of them looked dingy, for they were the 
 cellars and warehouses of the gayer shops on the footway over- 
 head. 
 
 Riesen pronounced that it was much easier to descend steps than 
 to climb them ; so he led the way to the end of the street, and then, 
 turning to the right, conducted his party up a gradual slope behind 
 the old castle till they reached the church-yard. Here Madame 
 Carouge turned away from the clockmaker with a pettish excla- 
 mation. 
 
 " I am tired already," she said. "You have no mercy, Monsieur 
 Riesen." Then she looked sweetly at Rudolf. " You are tired too, 
 I am sure of it; come and rest in this summer-house. " 
 
 And Rudolf Engemann placed himself beside her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A HARD FIGHT, 
 
 That perception or power of appreciation set forth in the old say- 
 ing " Eyes and no eyes " is surely not a purely mental quality; the 
 feelings play their part in it, and when these are adverse to enjoy- 
 ment, or weighted by some fear, they dull all power of receptivity, 
 and offer no surface for outside objects to mirror in. They are as 
 unimpressionable as would be an unprepared glass offered by a pho- 
 tographer to the sun to paint on; for, owing to its unprepared con- 
 dition, he can make no abiding impression thereon.
 
 166 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Marie felt the warmth of the sunshine this morning as she came 
 to the Red Glove for breakfast, but she had no ej-es for the light 
 and shade, and the glow of the flowers in the balconies of the 
 Hotel Beauregard, or the sparkle on the fountains and on every 
 salient object to which the glowing light was wishing a good- 
 morning. 
 
 Last night Madame Bobineau had parried her questions, and the 
 girl had become angry, carried away by the overwrought feeling 
 produced by the scene in the glove shop. Then, ashamed and 
 alarmed at her own agitation, she burst into a fit of crying. She 
 said she could not eat any supper, and the old woman wisely let her 
 go home without remonstrance. 
 
 It seems as if all temperaments have their special uses in the great 
 drama called human life. We have been inclined, perhaps former- 
 ly more than at present, to overestimate a warm heart as compared 
 with a cold one; yet there are cases when a cold temperament is 
 very useful. It may even be said that there are phases in the life 
 of each individual when it is far pleasanter and less irritating to be 
 treated coldly than sympathetically. 
 
 If Marie had been tenderly questioned when Captain Loigerot left 
 the Red Glove, she would have probably lost all self-control, and 
 have flung vehemently away from such a well - meant attempt at 
 consolation. Madame Bobineau's phlegm and seeming indifference 
 to her tears roused the girl's pride. She felt that she should lower 
 herself in her cousin's opinion if she betrayed feelings which the 
 old woman could not understand, and Marie accepted her cousin's 
 silence as ignorance of the captain's admiration, and tried to turn 
 away from the sudden suspicion which his words had aroused, 
 though she could not shake off the sorrow which had struck her 
 down. But the calming influence which this belief in Madame Bo- 
 bineau's ignorance had exercised on the girl's excitement of misery 
 did not last through breakfast this morning. 
 
 When she reached the Red Glove its mistress was actually smil- 
 ing. She kissed Marie, and remarked on the fineness of the morn- 
 ing; then she bustled forward into the kitchen, and gave the girl a 
 triumphant glance as she saw her looking at the table, for there 
 Marie beheld an unusual sight. Over the edge of a white compo- 
 tier hung purple and white grapes, and these supported a glowing 
 crown of peaches and nectarines. 
 
 " See " — Madame Bobineau licked her thin lips— " how kind and
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 167 
 
 thoughtful is Madame Carouge. In the midst of her own happi- 
 ness she does not forget others. She is truly a friend." 
 
 Marie kept her face calm, but her heart ached dully, and it seemed 
 to her that this was a pain that might go on forever. She must hide 
 it, too, from all, even from her sympathizing friends at St. Esprit. 
 She no longer wished to return there ; how could she own to those 
 pure, saintly women that she loved some one who did not love her. 
 "Even that would be boldness," poor Marie thought. Her cheeks 
 flamed as she went on thinking what would the sweet, kind Supe- 
 rior say of her "little girl," as she had always called Marie, if she 
 learned that she had given her love unasked, and actually desired 
 the love of a man betrothed to another woman; for Monsieur Enge- 
 mann had not denied the captain's assertion; he had only, Marie 
 thought, resented his familiarity. 
 
 " "What makes you so rosy, child?" said Madame Bobineau, sharp- 
 ly. She had just consulted her watch, and she knew that before 
 long the captain might be expected ; she had a good deal of way to 
 make with Marie before he came. Her reception of Monsieur Loi- 
 gerot must not be left to chance. Yet the wary old woman scarce- 
 ly knew how to handle the subject this morning. She knew so well 
 that the upshot of persuasion often depends on its first sentence. 
 She was looking keenly at Marie, when the girl raised her eyes, and 
 a clew at once peeped out to help Madame Bobineau. "You 
 should have worn your new gown," she went on, without waiting 
 for an answer. ' ' We shall not have a finer day than this. " 
 
 "I had not thought of it," the girl said, drearily. 
 
 " You have time to go back and change before we start, or we can 
 call for you. Monsieur le Capitaine will like to see you well dressed. " 
 
 Marie was silent, but her face became hotter. " I do not wish to 
 change my gown," she said. 
 
 Madame Bobineau stretched out her hand and helped herself to 
 another peach, gobbling at it as if she meant to get advice out of its 
 wrinkled brown stone; the juice streamed over her chin, and but for 
 her table napkin would have reached the front of her gown; but' 
 while she pulled away the skin, and deposited the red-veined stone 
 on the edge of her plate, she gained space for reflection. The time 
 was so short that she felt the only way was to take Marie by storm. 
 
 " Do you know " — there was a pitifulness in her voice that roused 
 the girl's attention, it was so new — "that I feel very sorry for you, 
 Marie?"
 
 1C8 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Marie looked up quickly ; she read careful scrutiny in the small 
 hard eyes fixed upon her face, but she would not wince. Uncon- 
 sciously Madame Bobineau was developing this fresh, simple nature 
 at high pressure. All at once it came to the girl, as by a sudden 
 flash of knowledge, that it was safer to believe the hard eyes rather 
 than the pitying voice. She must take great care not to betray 
 herself. 
 
 She actually smiled into the wrinkled face. "Do not be sorry, 
 then, dear madame," she spoke, gayly; "be glad that I am economi- 
 cal, instead of vain ; though, indeed, I hardly think that fat old cap- 
 tain's notice would touch my vanity." 
 
 "Chut! chut! you must not speak so; Monsieur Loigerot is not 
 old," said Madame Bobineau; " but I am not thinking of your gown 
 in that way, Marie. I — I — well, child, I wish to spare your feelings 
 if I can, but in your place I should do all I could to-day to seem 
 gay and glad, and it may be if the neighbors see you going about 
 smiling and well dressed, they will forget what they know about 
 you." 
 
 Marie was not red now; the color that had come so quickly fled, as 
 fear took possession of her, and in a moment she felt cold and stiff. 
 
 "What does any one know about me?" she said, in a dull voice, 
 while a hundred dreads seemed to be muttering words that her ears 
 could not gather. 
 
 "Only what you have shown them so heedlessly. You forget, 
 Marie, that people have eyes, as you have, and while you use yours 
 to show your feelings with, others look on and amuse themselves 
 with the sight. I tried to check you at the Bear Pit; but I hear 
 you have since then been seen in the street laughing and talking 
 with Monsieur Engemann when I knew nothing about it; you lay 
 in wait for him, I suppose. Then, of course, last night we could all 
 see plainly what ailed you — at least. Monsieur Engemann and I 
 could see. He might have been a little kinder to you, I will say, 
 but you must make excuse for him; I dare say you do, now you 
 have had time to think over his position and his hopes." 
 
 The direct, merciless words robbed Marie of all perception. She 
 felt stabbed, struck down ; she could only instinctively raise a shield 
 against her adversary ; she must, she .would, hide her secret from 
 her. 
 
 "What do you mean," she said, slowly, "when you say I lay in 
 wait for that gentleman? I met Monsieur Engemann as I came
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 1G9 
 
 here from my lodgings, just as I have met Monsieur Loigerot several 
 times, and Monsieur Riesen too." 
 
 She stared with angry defiance at the hard eyes that would not 
 leave her face. 
 
 "Bah! bah!" — the old, wrinkled woman nodded — "you make a 
 good fight, Marie, and I respect you for it. I like a girl to be brave 
 when she has made a fool of herself. Now be wise as well as 
 brave, child. Do not let the gossips of the Spitalgasse say to-day, 
 ' There's that pretty little fool Marie PeyroUes wearing the willow 
 because Monsieur Engemann is away courting Madame Carouge.' " 
 
 "Madame!" Marie rose up, her eyes glowing with a strange new 
 light. No wonder it was strange : a new inmate had taken posses- 
 sion of the girl's heart; a feeling never yet evoked into life by the 
 gentle, kindly nurture which had fostered all that was tender and 
 sweet in her. 
 
 "It is you who are not wise, madame. Yes, you look shocked at 
 my plain-speaking, but you irritate me, and you must take the con- 
 sequences. By what right do you say that 1 wear the willow for 
 Monsieur Engemann? I am young, and so is he, and young men 
 and young women take pleasure in speaking to one another. Were 
 you not young once yourself, madame? I do not care for the gos- 
 sips of the Spitalgasse, or for Berne. I shall go away from Berne 
 as soon as I can hear of another employment." 
 
 Just now, drawn up to her full height, Marie looked as grand as 
 the beautiful widow, and Madame Bobineau felt a little afraid of 
 her; but the last words set her at ease again. 
 
 "Bah" — she leaned back in her chair, and looked sneeringly at 
 Marie from head to foot — "one would think you were on the stage, 
 child. Have you forgotten that I am your guardian, and until you 
 are of age you must do as I bid you? Who do you suppose would 
 employ you if I refuse to release you from your duties here ? Even 
 the sisters dare not take you away from me if I assert my claim." 
 She looked so keenly at the girl that the rosy color flew over Marie's 
 face in a flash of bloom. " But I fancy you do not feel in a mood 
 for convent life just now, do you, Marie?" 
 
 Marie's indignation seemed to make her taller, larger in every way, 
 as she stretched out her strong, well-formed hand and arm towards 
 Madame Bobineau. 
 
 "Are you trying to make me run away?" she said, vehemently. 
 " Oh, how "sacked you are!"
 
 170 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Madame Bobineau smiled contemptuously. 
 
 "On the contrary, I am very forbearing. I believe I could have 
 you put into the reformatory, and certainly, if you run away, I shall 
 give instructions that you are taken there, you ungrateful hussy!" 
 She shook her fist at Marie. 
 
 The old woman's rage had flashed out at last, and it brought tears 
 into her hard eyes. The sight of the tears softened Marie. 
 
 "I don't want to be ungrateful, but why do you say cruel, bad 
 things of me?" Then, worn out, she flung herself into a chair, and 
 covered her face with her hands. 
 
 "I have not said bad things. I consider you a good girl, or I 
 should not keep you here, Marie. But I must judge from what 'I 
 see. Last night j^ou heard of Monsieur Engemann's engagement 
 to Madame Carouge, and you burst out crying and sobbing like 
 a baby." 
 
 Marie remembered the vexation that had caused her tears, and she 
 could honestly say they had not been caused only by the news she 
 had heard. She told herself bitterly that the discovery of her own 
 folly was too deep a humbling to be got rid of in sudden tears. 
 
 "I cried because I was vexed. I — I don't like that old man." 
 
 Madame Bobineau felt that her time was come. 
 
 " Captain Loigerot is not old, Marie; and he is well off and well- 
 mannered, and a fine man too; any girl in Berne woiild be glad to 
 take him as a husband." She paused. Marie's hands had fallen in 
 her lap ; but now her mouth opened widely, showing her pretty, even 
 teeth. ' ' Yes, Marie, such a man as he is might have any one, and 
 he has chosen you, a poor, penniless shop-girl, and instead of feeling 
 flattered and grateful, you call him bad names. " 
 
 Marie's stare relaxed; she leaned back in her chair and laughed 
 merrily. "Not bad names," she said. "But, madame, what do 
 you mean — chosen me? Oh, the poor old dear! And is that why 
 he gave me the bouquet? "Why "—she jumped up and stood erect — 
 "he comes up to about here" — she touched her shoulder. "I can 
 see almost over the top of his bald head ; and — and he is double my 
 age. Oh! but it is too amusing." 
 
 She sank down in the chair again, and laughed till her eyes ran 
 with tears. 
 
 Madame Bobineau was surprised at the girl's sudden change of 
 humor, but she was far too experienced to imagine that she had 
 conquered.
 
 AKE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME RUN AWAY?"
 
 i
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 173 
 
 " His kindness is unlimited," she said. "He found out you liked 
 flowers, and he took the readiest way to show you that he was de- 
 voted to pleasing you. He said to me, ' She shall have a flower- 
 garden of her own, and a greenhouse also. She shall have every- 
 thing that I can give her, and nothing to do but enjoy herself, if I 
 can only please her.'" 
 
 Marie jogged the foot she had crossed over its fellow, and made a 
 wry face. "And what did you answer, pray?" 
 Madame Bobineau shook her head at the scornful tone. 
 " You need not mock, Marie. I said you were diflflcult to please, 
 and that I could not answer for you, and I told him to be patient. 
 All that was said before you accepted the nosegay." Marie smiled. 
 " But listen, child. The captain asked leave to walk to church with 
 us to-day, and then to escort us to the Schanzli in the evening. Now, 
 Marie, I heard you accept this last proposal." 
 "Well, and what if I did?" 
 
 "People make themselves smart to go to the Schanzli. There 
 will be music there to-night, and you may just as well get ready 
 now. If you change your gown later on, the captain will have a 
 right to think it is done for him." 
 
 She looked anxiously in the girl's face, but Marie showed no signs 
 of yielding. 
 
 " Go quickly, my child," the old woman urged, "and then if the 
 captain comes before you return, I will take him to church, and you 
 will join us there." 
 
 " Stop, madame "—Marie had been thinking. " I am not going to 
 be led into anything against my will. If I go to church and come 
 out with the captain, does it pledge me to anything?" 
 
 Madame Bobineau was growing desperate and losing her temper. 
 The captain would come in ten minutes, and she had made no im- 
 pression on Marie. 
 
 " You have been trying to impose on -me, Marie," she said, angrily, 
 " and you know it. What right had you to accept those flowers? 
 You knew fast enough what you were doing— a beggar like you, in- 
 deed, to be picking and choosing! I have been much too forbear- 
 ing. Who ever heard of a girl of your age choosing a husband for 
 herself? I have chosen you a good husband, and all you have to do 
 is to accept him gratefully — wild I" 
 
 She took a pinch of snuff, and called herself an old fool for not 
 having taken this attitude earlier in the discussion.
 
 174 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 Marie rose up. 
 
 " I do not want to be ungrateful or disobedient," she said, sadly, 
 " I will go and change my gown to please you; but I cannot marry 
 Captain Loigerot." 
 
 "Nonsense! I tell you he is as rich as he is kind. What more 
 can you want in a husband?" 
 
 Marie turned away ; her face was full of sorrow. 
 
 " I can't love him; and how can I marry a man I do not love?" 
 she said, half crying. At that moment she really wished she could 
 accept the captain, it seemed such an easy escape from the glove 
 shop, from Madame Carouge, and from her misery. 
 
 Madame Bobineau snapped her fingers. "Love! I said nothing 
 about love. What can love have to do with your marriage? A 
 girl like you marries for a home, for a position, Marie, and Captain 
 Loigerot can give you both. You little simpleton, do j'ou think I 
 married Bobineau for anything except his glove shop?" 
 
 She had to soothe herself with an extra pinch of snuff. 
 
 Marie had reached the door of the kitchen, and now she leaned 
 her head against it ; she did not want the old woman to see her tears. 
 
 "My father and mother loved each another; I'm sure they did." 
 
 She murmured this as if to herself, but the old woman heard, and 
 snorted with rage. 
 
 " A pair of penniless fools they were. And pray what happened? 
 They didn't take much by their love, Marie. They offended all their 
 friends " — she rapped her large-boned knuckles on the snuff-box to 
 keep time to her words — "and they died beggars — yes, beggars. 
 Don't talk to me of your father and mother, Marie; their love was 
 mere self-indulgence, and you have no reason to be grateful to them 
 for leaving you without means of support. I should like to know 
 what would become of you if I died to - morrow. I've nothing to 
 leave, after my funeral is paid for, I can tell you." 
 
 Marie raised her tear-stained face. Once more she stretched out 
 her hand, but this time the gesture was an imploring one. 
 
 ' ' I beg you to leave me alone, madame ; please let me be quiet till 
 after mass, at any rate; I cannot think in a hurry. I do not say 
 even then that I will marry Captain Loigerot — but I will think. " 
 
 She went out, her head bent on her breast. All life and hope had 
 fled from her movements as she walked slowly back along the street 
 to her bedroom in the court at the foot of the steps.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE, I75 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ON THE LAKE. 
 
 Madame Cakouge had sat silently gazing. The open summer- 
 house with pointed red roof, in which she had invited Rudolf to rest, 
 was on the top of one of two towers built at the angles of the old 
 city wall, which reaches up the hill, and supports and girdles in the 
 terrace beside the flowery church-yard. The angle piers and roof of 
 the summer-house were rosy red with clinging garlands of Virginia 
 creeper. Just below was the old gray wall, flower and weed grown ; 
 houses clustered at its foot, and beyond them was the exquisite blue- 
 green of the river; on the left, high above, rose the huge, dark, pine- 
 covered ridge that shelters Thun from the north wind ; on the right, 
 the willow-trees by the river were silvery gray as they bent over an 
 island clasped by two arms of the Aar — a curtain of trees almost 
 crossed the water; and beyond was the still lake, washing the feet 
 of the Niesen and of the grand semicircle of mountains that seemed 
 the advanced guards of the snowy giants above them. The sky was 
 still clear on this side, and the dazzling white of the Blumlis Alp and 
 the Freundhorn made a vivid contrast to the rich green and purple 
 of the Niesen and the flank of another ridge that stretched out as if 
 to meet it; while filling up the gap with her silver glory was the 
 Blumlis Alp — a glory now at mid -day tempered by delicate gray 
 shadows; beyond, the Jungfrau, the Moncli, and the Eiger rose up 
 stupendous, as if in a kind of scorn of their lesser brethren. A 
 wreath of vapor circled the Niesen, but it looked feathery, and as if 
 the next gust of wind might blow it away. Rudolf found it hard to 
 believe he was gazing at sinful, sorrow - stained earth; he felt that 
 this might be a glimpse into heaven. 
 
 " It is hard to think that there are doubtless bad people living in 
 sight of all this beauty, "he said, in a low voice; "it ought to keep 
 them pure and true." 
 
 "Yes, "murmured Madame Carouge. 
 
 He did not look round. If he had seen his companion's face 
 he would have realized the fact, so hard to grasp, and yet a fact
 
 176 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 after all, that no one sees the beautiful in nature exactly as his fel- 
 low sees it. 
 
 While this exquisite scene had taken such complete possession of 
 the man that he almost seemed winged, transported out of all gross- 
 er affections in the contemplation of its beauty, the woman had also 
 looked at it with pleasure, but the effect on her had been different. 
 The joy its beauty gave her quickened her pulses, and made her 
 long yet more impatiently for the earthly happiness which she felt 
 was nearly hers. The change in Rudolfs manner made her almost 
 sure that he would ask her to be his wife. And so her eyes had soon 
 left the lofty, dazzling Blumlis Alp and had settled on the face be- 
 side her— far more beautiful to her in that moment of exquisite en- 
 joyment than anything else could be. 
 
 Before either of them had spoken again, Riesen's harsh voice broke 
 into the stillness. "My good friends, we are late as it is; the boat 
 people will think we are not coming." 
 
 Engemann and Madame Carouge started at the interruption; this 
 annoyed the clockmaker and amused his wife. 
 
 "Isn't it lovely?" she said; "like a fairy scene at the theatre; you 
 can hardly tear yourselves away. Ah! that's so natural!" She 
 gave a deep sigh; then, turning to her husband, she said, briskly, 
 "We must go down the broad steps, Eugene; that is the shortest 
 way, you know." 
 
 They soon reached the principal flight of steps leading down into 
 the town, and while Madame Riesen stopped to raise her skirt, her 
 husband placed himself once more next Madame Carouge. He felt 
 ill used ; it seemed to him that in asking Engemann to seat himself 
 beside her, and then remaining alone with this young fellow, the 
 widow had completely thrown aside restraint, and had treated him 
 with scant courtesy. 
 
 Now they recross the bridge, and turning to the left, follow the 
 Aar, past the garden of the quaint old hotel, past a house or two 
 nestled among close-growing trees, then beneath a winding avenue 
 which casts on their path exquisite green shadows, here and there 
 barred with golden sunshine. The river that borders one side of 
 the sequestered path is deepest blue-green, into which some willow- 
 trees reflect themselves grayly. Now an island parts the river into 
 two embracing arms, and on it is a boat-house wreathed in vines, 
 and these, golden as the sun touches their leaves, paint themselves 
 in yellow on the blue-green water. Now the path diverges a little; 
 
 !
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE. 177 
 
 they pass a vine-covered chalet so bowered in climbing plants that 
 one wonders how the outside wooden shutters can ever be closed. 
 Through the vine leaves that garland the windows, orange nastur- 
 tiums and red geraniums are glowing, and over the shed on one side 
 a Virginia creeper has already turned to vivid fire-color. 
 
 Gardens with fruit-laden trees now lie between the path and the 
 river; and then all at once they come to an open space, a grassed 
 church-yard with crosses wreathed with flowers, and mounds cov- 
 ered with loving tokens. In the midst of all a little church rears its 
 slender red-capped tower, the white walls so richly clad with rose and 
 flame colored leaves that under this glowing light they seem to burn. 
 
 A narrow path leads down to the river outside the low boundary 
 wall of the church-yard. Here is a little landing-place between the 
 church-yard and a lovely garden. A gayly painted boat, with red 
 cushions and a striped orange and red awning, is waiting here for 
 its freight. 
 
 A strip of grass parts the church-yard from the river, and this is 
 bordered by a long row of stately hollyhocks, the blossoms on their 
 tall spires crimson, yellow, and creamy white. 
 
 Engemann had walked along in too absorbed a state to notice 
 Madame Riesen's chatter. There had been something dream -like 
 in the subdued light in the avenue, in the unreal tints on the water, 
 and then in the sudden vision of the slender church tower with 
 clinging flame-hued leaves rising out of its nest of circling trees. 
 
 But when they drew near the landing - place Madame Carouge 
 stood still till Rudolf came up to her. She pointed to the many- 
 colored screen of hollyhocks through which across the river showed 
 the town, surmounted by its castle and church, and framed by the 
 dark pine woods stretching on till they seemed to reach the lake. 
 
 "Yes, it is all charming," said Engemann, and then he offered his 
 arm to help her into the boat. 
 
 But here he was superseded. A strong brown hand grasped the 
 arm of Madame Carouge, and a broad, upturned red face showed 
 merry blue eyes and a row of strong white teeth. 
 
 "You are welcome, lady, "the sturdy boat-woman said. "I be- 
 gan to think you were not coming. Aline, attention!" 
 
 By this time Monsieur and Madame Riesen, Engemann, and the 
 widow were all seated. Just as Madame Carouge saw herself com- 
 pelled to take a seat beside the clockmaker, she clapped her hands 
 gayly.
 
 178 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 "Change with me, Monsieur Engemann," she said. "You and 
 Monsieur Riesen are the heaviest, and I shall feel safer if you sit 
 together. " 
 
 The girl Aline, a young, good-looking likeness of her mother, but 
 equally brown and sturdy, seated herself between a pair of heavy 
 oars. She was bareheaded, but her face was tied up in white linen. 
 
 "Only the toothache, " the mother said, in answer to Madame, 
 Riesen's question. " She is not yet accustomed to the damp from 
 the river." 
 
 She herself, standing erect in the stern of the boat, shaded by a 
 round black hat, looked completely weather-proof as she drove her 
 'long pole into the wall of the garden terrace, and pushed the boat 
 out into the stream. 
 
 Soon they had floated past the little wall covered with flowers 
 that reached the water's edge, and all at once the lake opened before 
 them, broad and still, with mountains rising out of it as far as eye 
 could reach. The higher line of snowy Alps had veiled itself now 
 with clouds, and the purple, pyramid-like Niesen was only partly 
 visible, for the wreath of vapor that had circled it reached to its 
 top. 
 
 "Niesen has got his nightcap on," the clockmaker said, "but the 
 day may be fine in spite of that." 
 
 The boat-woman did not answer; she was looking at the hand- 
 some couple, and decided in her own mind that they were made for 
 each another. 
 
 She had been sharp-witted enough to understand Madame Ca- 
 rouge's manoeuvre in changing her seat, and she began to talk volu- 
 bly to Monsieur Riesen, and compelled him to talk in return. 
 
 So they glided on ; the awning sheltered them from the glare, but 
 the heat was oppressive. 
 
 Madame Carouge raised her eyes, full of soft languor, to her coin- 
 panion's face. 
 
 "Is not this an exquisite scene?" she said, in a low voice. "Do 
 you enjoy it?" 
 
 "Yes;" but Engemann did not want to talk, and he went on 
 dreaming. He could not have said what his thoughts were, for there 
 was little sequence in them; perhaps at that moment he realized the 
 enjoyment of a lotus - eater. It seemed to him delightful to drift 
 silently on and on amid this ever - changing beauty, and the talk 
 of the clockmaker and his wife with the boat-woman jarred him. 
 
 I
 
 AT THE EED GLOVE. 179 
 
 When sometimes he looked at his companion he felt that she har- 
 monized with her surroundings ; her eyes, her attitude, were full of 
 languid repose. 
 
 But this appearance of repose was deceptive; there was fire be- 
 neath. She could not understand his cold reserve, and her feelings 
 rose in protest against it, but she resolved to leave him to himself. 
 
 " If he cares for me," she thought, "he must soon speak." 
 
 Engemann was quite unconscious of her suffering; he felt steeped 
 to the lips in blissful rest, and he gave himself up to it. 
 
 So they glided on.
 
 PART V. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ON THE BRINK. 
 
 As the boat crossed the lake, 
 Time proved the truth of Rosa- 
 lind's adage; it travelled at divers 
 paces with the several persons be- 
 neath the awning. 
 
 Rudolf Engemann was utterly 
 unconscious of Time's progress, 
 while to the clockmaker the hours 
 had seemed leaden-footed ever since 
 they took their places in the train, 
 and he gave a grunt of satisfaction 
 when they came in sight of Ober- 
 hofen, with its tiny bay, ended by 
 the projecting point, its church, and 
 ancient castle, with the range of 
 mountains for a background. 
 
 Madame Carouge roused a little 
 when she saw it; to her the time 
 had gone by very quickly. Riesen 
 had ceased to answer the boat- 
 woman, and there had been a 
 long silence. Meantime the wid- 
 ow had dreamed away her oppor- 
 tunities, and had lost her chance 
 
 of speaking to Monsieur Engemann. 
 
 "I am a simpleton," she thought; "what is the use of all the 
 
 trouble I have taken if I make no use of this chance? And yet — " 
 
 What could she do? 
 She looked at Engemann, and her courage would not come to 
 
 1 
 
 I
 
 AT THE RED GLOYE. 181 
 
 Iielp her; she felt shy of him, fearful of losing his good opinion. 
 Was he one of those men, she wondered — she had heard of them — 
 who lose all the prizes of life because they are too unready to snatch 
 at Opportunity as she passes before them ? 
 
 "How cold and quiet he is," she said to herself. "Is it that he 
 enjoys this beautiful scenery so intensely, or is it — " 
 
 She frowned, and turned to look into the blue-green water, for she 
 had met Madame Riesen's eyes fixed on hers. Those thick eyebrows 
 drawn together had a threatening aspect which alarmed the clock- 
 maker's wife, and forced her into full cackle with the boatwom- 
 an. 
 
 Madame Carouge saw her own beautiful face reflected in the wa- 
 ter, and her brows relaxed, her red lips curved into a smile. "My 
 love makes me distrustful," she thought. "Marie will certainly 
 marry the captain, and then — " She sighed, but she did not turn to 
 look at Rudolf. She told herself that nowadays no man married for 
 love ; why did she expect him to be different from others ? "And 
 I have so much besides myself to give," she said, bitterly. "But he 
 need not be so cold, so reserved. Ah, it is doubtless my fault ; I so 
 fear to betray myself that I have repelled him." She turned 
 towards him. 
 
 "Monsieur Engemann, " she said. 
 
 Engemann started from his reverie. 
 
 " Yes, madame/'he answered, smiling. 
 
 She gave him back a smile, but there was sadness in her eyes. 
 " Pardon me, I disturbed you. You were thinking of something — 
 something very interesting ?" 
 
 She looked again into the water, and spoke in a low voice. 
 
 "I beg your pardon ;" he turned to her so that their faces were 
 hidden from their companions. ' ' I was thinking that we never get 
 what we wish. It seems as if there were always a check on the will ; 
 even this water leaps up against the shore, and then is called back ;" 
 he sighed ; his eyes were still fixed on the water : he was uttering 
 his thoughts aloud. 
 
 To Madame Carouge it seemed that the barrier that had held 
 them apart was suddenly swept away ; her eyes grew darker and 
 more liquid, and her rich complexion glowed more deeply as she 
 earnestly looked at him. She answered, in a low and tremulous 
 voice, " But is not this check, as you call it, sometimes self-imposed? 
 do we not deceive ourselves ? You are wiser than I am, monsieur;
 
 182 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 but I fancy self-distrust lias before now come between a man and 
 that which may make his happiness." 
 
 The tender, pathetic tone touched him, but it roused him too. 
 He felt that something lay hidden in her words. 
 
 " What does she mean ?" he wondered, and he felt dazed. "Does 
 she mean that I have neglected my chance of pleasing her ? How 
 handsome she looks ! Yes, I ought not to be so silent. On the con- 
 trary, madame," he said, " it is you who are wise and kind ; and this 
 is a truly delightful day you are giving us ; I am so greatly enjoy- 
 ing it that I fear I have been selfishly silent ; but I always am silent 
 on the water. " 
 
 Madame Carouge turned away abruptly. ' ' Just the same as ever, " 
 she thought ; "he always slips out of any personal talk and drifts 
 into commonplace." Then, aloud, " Monsieur Riesen, shall we go 
 back now, or on as far as Gunten ?" 
 
 The clockmaker looked towards the farther side of the lake and 
 shook his head sagaciously. A bank of clouds showed black be- 
 hind the Stockhorn and its range of followers, and the upper part of 
 the Niesen was invisible. "What do you think of the weather?" 
 the clockmaker said to the boatwoman. 
 
 At this she looked sideways, and also shook her head. "There 
 is no telling, monsieur ; it may come soon, or it may not come before 
 night ; but there is rain up there." 
 
 " It wiU be better to return, will it not, madame ?" Riesen looked 
 at Madame Carouge. 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 It seemed as if the clouds had settled on her also. And, indeed, 
 she felt that the happiness she had so burningly looked for had been 
 mirage. She had been all day with Rudolf Engemann, and yet they 
 would probably part at the end of it only good friends. 
 
 " You have enjoyed the day, I hope ?" Rudolf said. 
 
 She looked bright and happy as she answered, "I— I have found 
 it only too short." 
 
 " I think so too," he said ; and then she saw him smUe as he looked 
 across the boat. Madame Riesen was struggling into an enormous 
 cloak, and as her husband had begun to put it on her wrong side 
 out, this had provoked a fretful dispute which completely occupied 
 the pair. 
 
 The widow turned again to Rudolph. "A holiday seldom comes 
 into my life," she said, "and I have considered a holiday with a sym-
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 183 
 
 pathetic friend one of the blue roses of existence. To-day I have 
 learned that almost perfect happiness is possible." 
 
 A puzzled look came into the young fellow's eyes — novels had not 
 been in his way, and he wondered what was meant by "blue roses," 
 but the pathos of the last words reached his heart. "Surely," he 
 said, "your life has not been, is not, unhappy ?" 
 
 Madame Carouge's eyes filled with tears. "Ah," she sighed, "I 
 thought I had at last found a friend who had learned to read my 
 feelings, but sorrow makes one exacting. Do you not think it is 
 more dreary to live alone among others than to Uve actually in soli- 
 tude?" 
 
 Engemann was much moved and puzzled by her words and man- 
 ner. Somehow or other he had gi-ieved this deeply interesting 
 woman. He sat in perplexed silence while the boat was rapidly 
 rowed towards Thun. He felt that Madame Riesen was looking at 
 him, now that she was cloaked and at rest, and he could not carry 
 on the conversation which had aroused his curiosity as well as his 
 sjrmpathy. 
 
 Heavy, scattered drops began to fall on the awning of the boat ; 
 the smoothness of the water was ruffled, and the golden glow left it 
 as the sunshine was hidden by fast- moving clouds. 
 
 "We had better go right on to the landing-place near the Freien- 
 hof," Riesen said to the boatwoman ; "the storm will burst almost 
 directly. " 
 
 "May I not wrap you in this ?" Rudolf said to the widow, taking 
 up a cloak. He spoke so gently, with so much tender sympathy, 
 that once more joy and hope came back to her. 
 
 But now the rain beat down so heavily that talk was impossible, 
 and by the time they reached the landing-place the opposite side of 
 the river was only visible through the sheets of rain which poured 
 down into the troubled, turbid Wf.ter. 
 
 "Take my arm, "Rudolph said, and then he hurried Madame Ca- 
 rouge along the narrow covered bridge over the weir, and through 
 the little garden and the coffee-room of the hotel, the shortest way 
 to the upper floor of the quaint old house. 
 
 The rain was pouring down in a torrent into the open courtyard, 
 and the leaves of the plants climbing up the pillars of the surround- 
 ing galleries were already soaked with water. 
 
 The landlord's daughter, a kind-looking, graceful girl, and a tall, 
 handsome maid in Swiss costvune begged the two ladies to come 
 
 k
 
 184 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 into the kitchen and take off their wraps before the glowing fire 
 there. Madame Carouge had escaped the rain better than her com- 
 panion had, and she soon found her way to the salle, leaving Madame 
 Riesen in full talk. 
 
 Rudolf Engemann was there alone, looking out of one of the 
 broad, low windows. The dark hill opposite, across the river, was 
 almost hidden by long cloud-wreaths, moving so rapidly from one 
 point to another that it seemed as if some battle were being fought 
 there. But the young fellow hardly noticed the strange effect, he 
 was suffering a kind of remorse for the indifference he had shown 
 in return for the widow's kindness. He looked round when the 
 door opened, and, turning away from the window, he came up to 
 Madame Carouge. 
 
 "I am afraid we shall not get our walk in the pine-wood," he 
 said. 
 
 "Should you have liked it ? I thought," she said, timidly, "you 
 had, perhaps, found the day long enough. I feared I had bored you 
 with my confidences." 
 
 Engemann reddened. ' ' On the contrary, I have been greatly in- 
 terested ; but — " he hesitated, and looked simply into the beautiful 
 eyes fixed on him — "I am not much used to talking in company, 
 but what you have said about your sadness troubles me deeply. " 
 
 "Then I wish I had not spoken of it ; you must forget* it, my 
 kind friend. " 
 
 Rudolf shook his head, and as she seated herself in one of the 
 window recesses he placed himself beside her. "It has come upon 
 you since your husband died, " he said tenderly. ' ' You were very 
 young to have such a sorrow laid on you." 
 
 She drew herself a little away, and the glow vanished from her 
 eyes. " No, monsieur, I must tell you the truth, even if I lose your 
 precious sympathy. I never loved my husband. I married for a 
 home, not for love; I was a mere girl, my husband was middle- 
 aged ; 1 — well, I tried to do my duty ; but when he died I could not 
 sorrow ; I could only feel that I was free. " 
 
 Engemann hardly knew what to say, but her eyes asked him to 
 speak. " In that case, "he said, " I wonder that you, so young and 
 beautiful as you are, should not have married again." 
 
 Madame Carouge sat very erect and looked at him with a slight 
 smile. "I will tell you, my friend, for I may call you so now. 
 When I married, I knew nothing of love ; I was an ignorant child ;
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE. 185 
 
 my husband gave me luxuries which were all new to me ; but I soon 
 tired of them, as children tire of toys, you know. One day he 
 brought me home some romances, and then, monsieur, I learned how 
 two souls in perfect unison can make for each other a heaven on 
 earth ; then I learned that I had myself destroyed my chance of 
 happiness." 
 
 Her voice had sunk lower ; her eyes were fixed on her hands, 
 clasped in her lap. She was looking sadly at her wedding-ring. 
 
 Rudolf, deeply stirred, bent over her, eager to hear the end of this, 
 the first romance that had been confided to him by a woman ; and 
 as he gazed into her beautiful face his pulses quickened. ' ' Surely, " 
 he said, "a heart like yours can never be in need of love ; there 
 must have been many before now who have striven to win you." 
 
 "Yes, it is true ;" she gave him a sudden glance ; "but I resolved 
 to wait till I met one who loved me for myself. One knows when 
 one is truly loved." 
 
 "You must know, "he said, earnestly. 
 
 She raised her eyes suddenly, and met his glance full of warm 
 light ; her own fell at once. 
 
 ' ' I know nothing, " she murmured, ' ' What does a woman know ? 
 She only feels and — loves." 
 
 The last word was scarcely audible, and yet Rudolf heard it ; but 
 he also heard the door open, and he saw come in, not only the clock- 
 maker and his wife, but a group of English tourists on their way to 
 Interlaken, grumbling about the rain-storm which had stopped their 
 journey. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A RESOLUTION. 
 
 The church was so full when Marie reached it that she could not 
 find a place in the nave, so she turned aside and knelt down before 
 the altar of one of the side chapels. The poor girl was so absorbed 
 in sorrow that she gave little attention to the service. She covered 
 her face with her hands, and soon tears streamed between her fingers. 
 
 After a while she looked up and saw dimly that the chapel was 
 dedicated to "Our Lady of Sorrows." She took comfort at this ; it 
 seemed as if she had been led directly to sympathy ; but she drew a 
 long, quivering breath as she accepted the omen. The deep stillness
 
 186 AT THE BED GLOVE. 
 
 that stole over her spirits made the voices at the high altar sound 
 far off and indistinct ; but this stillness was not mute to Marie. It 
 told her to submit, it warned her that a young girl could not venture 
 on a life of struggle and issue from it unscathed ; it told her, too, 
 that she would serve God better and more easily in peace than in 
 strife ; but still the means of obtaining this peace in her outward 
 life was as distasteful to her as ever. Once more she hid her face 
 between her hands and bent her head in prayer. 
 
 "I am stubborn and rebellious," she sobbed, as she knelt on in 
 troubled silence. 
 
 All at once she began to wonder what the Superior of St. Esprit 
 would have counselled. Well, what had she to ask ? Whether she 
 should obey Madame Bobineau. And then Marie remembered the 
 way in which the kind Mother used to question her on her mental 
 troubles till they set themselves straight ; she knew that in this case 
 the question would have been asked, "Has Madame Bobineau a 
 claim on your obedience ?" And mechanically she supphed the an- 
 swer, " She is my employer, and also my near relative." 
 
 Marie knew that the Superior would tell her disobedience was a 
 sin, and at the thought her motive for this disobedience obtruded 
 itself. " I disobey because I covet the love of a man who has none 
 for me, who loves some one else." The words seemed to be whis- 
 pered by a serpent. This was worse than the quietude of her sor- 
 row, for the serpent stung sharply and the pain felt like poison ; but 
 she knelt on still in mental struggle. 
 
 An old man, not far off, wondered at the absorbed piety of the 
 young girl who never once stood or sat as others did, but knelt on 
 like some old devotee. He noted, too, that though she seemed to be 
 praying, she did not say her rosary or open the book she had placed 
 on the ground beside her. 
 
 The sermon was over ; the "most solemn part of the service began, 
 but Marie took no heed. All at once the bell rang, and she started. 
 It rang again, three times, and every one in the church knelt rever- 
 ently. Marie bent lower still and tried to worship. Now at last she 
 was able to fling away every thought of self and to remember where 
 she was. 
 
 The mass was ended. Marie rosfi from her knees and looked 
 round. People were already moving, and near her — so near in the 
 crowd that filled this southern aisle that Marie wondered she had not 
 seen her before — was Madame Bobineau ; and close by the old
 
 AFTER A WHILE SHE LOOKED UP.
 
 I
 
 AT THE EED GLOV*E. Jgg 
 
 woman, in the act of rising from a chair, was Captain Loigcrot. 
 He did not see Marie, but the girl was impressed by the loolc of 
 goodness on his face — it was full of happy peace. She gave a little 
 gasp — was this an answer to her prayer ? If she consented to mar- 
 ry this kind, amiable man, should she indeed go back to the happy, 
 calm life she had so little prized at St. Esprit, but which she had 
 learned to regret so lovingly ? But then a flood of unwelcome 
 thoughts rushed in. Marie's lips quivered and her eyes filled with 
 tears. "But if it brings peace," she murmured, and she turned to 
 follow the crowd out of the church. 
 
 Sharp-eyed JIadame Bobineau had seen Marie, and she waited 
 near the door till the girl approached. As Marie dipped her fingers 
 in the holy-water stoup the captain stepped forward and did like- 
 wise, giving her a silent, smiling glance. 
 
 "H'm!" 
 
 A sudden clearing of the throat made Marie look up and become 
 aware that Madame Webern, the confectioner, was surveying her 
 with significant eyes. 
 
 Presently they all stood together on the pavement outside, while 
 the scorching sun poured down a fierce greeting on the uncovered 
 head of the captain as he bowed low to Marie before offering her his 
 arm. She looked at him a moment, then she put her fingers within 
 the close clasp of his coat-sleeve, and Madame Bobineau took his 
 other arm, and they started. In that mute action the girl knew that 
 she had surrendered herself ; a thought, divine in its unselfish truth, 
 had urged on her decision. Her prayers had cleared away the mist 
 of anger which Madame Bobineau had awakened. Marie felt sure 
 that Monsieur Engemann wished her well, and it seemed to her that 
 it must make him happier to see her married than left to di-udge on 
 at the Red Glove, pining for the love he could not give her. 
 
 The mental struggle she had gone through had exhausted her, and 
 she did not know what the captain talked about till they were near 
 home. Then she began to listen. 
 
 "Tut, tut ! Do you see it, mademoiselle ; the day is clouding 
 over : it will be vexing if our evening at the Schiinzli is not bright. 
 You would like to see the Alp-Gluhcn, would you not, and the sky 
 must be bright for that? Ah !" Here the captain managed to rub 
 his hands together. ' ' That is, let mc toll you, mademoiselle, a sight 
 which will rejoice your heart." 
 
 "Yes," Marie said, and she smiled. After all, what did it matter ? 
 
 8
 
 190 AT THE KED GLOVE.. 
 
 She could never be happy again, but she could be brave, and she 
 could try to make others happy, she thought, in the exaltation to 
 which she had brought herself. She preferred, however, not to meet 
 the captain's admiring eyes, and the street was so full of people com- 
 ing and going that she had i:)]enty of excuse for looking about her. 
 At last they stopped at the door of the Eed Glove; the two elders 
 stood still, and let Marie pass in before them. 
 
 "I feel like a bird going in at the door of its cage," the girl 
 thought. 
 
 But she went on to the kitchen and took off her hat; then she put 
 the backs of her hands against her cheeks and felt how burning hot 
 they were ; she could not see the exquisite rose-color that glowed on 
 her face ; her eyelids, it is true, were heavy, and her eyes were lan- 
 guid, but Marie had rarely looked so attractive. 
 
 Meantime Monsieur Loigerot was speaking to his landlady. Tlie 
 captain had had time to reflect, and although he still felt rather shy 
 of the young girl he meant to marry, a certain instinct warned him 
 that it was better to adopt a masterful manner with Madame Bobi- 
 neau. 
 
 "I may consider the affair arranged, madame," he said, "and I 
 may venture to salute mademoiselle?" 
 
 His little eyes twinkled greedily. 
 
 •'I am sure I don't know about that," she answered. "Marie is 
 very young, and full of convent prejudices. She — " 
 
 The captain snapped his fingers. 
 
 " Ta, ta, madame ; we will endeavor to overcome the convent ; in 
 your presence, however, be it understood." 
 
 He stood aside ceremoniously to allow her to pass him in the nar- 
 row passage, and Madame Bobincau went into her little sitting-room. 
 She looked round, and then, not choosing to expose herself to another 
 dispute with Marie, she went to the door, when she had offered Cap- 
 tain Loigerot a chair. 
 
 "Marie, Marie," she called out ; she was saying to herself, "Will 
 he expect breakfast? it is certain that he has not yet taken breakfast. " 
 
 Her face lengtheaed and sadness spread over her as she pictured 
 to herself the treasured sweetbread and the half chicken now lying 
 snugly in her cupboard being swallowed by the captain with the ap- 
 preciation of a man who dines well every day. 
 
 " Surely Marie is as one of the plagues of Egypt to me," she said 
 to herself. " It will indeed be a deliverance when the captain takes 
 
 1
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 191 
 
 her to himself. Marie," she called again, and she tried to make her 
 voice pleasant; "Marie, come here, you are wanted." 
 
 But Marie did not come, and Madame Bobineau felt that she must 
 fill up the gap of silence, lest the captain should take offence. 
 
 "Monsieur has breakfasted?" she asked. 
 
 "No, madame;" he waved his hand pompously. " On so impor- 
 tant an occasion as this, one must even derange one's habits. My 
 happiness was worth such a sacrifice." 
 
 He looked up at the ceiling and cleared his throat. Though he 
 was in love, he felt hungry, and he wished Marie would appear. 
 
 Madame Bobineau's face became browner and more puckered than 
 usual. 
 
 "Will monsieur permit me to offer him an humble meal? I — " 
 Every word seemed to drag itself out of her with pain. 
 
 Captain Loigerot waved his hand in refusal, but he bowed in ac- 
 knowledgment. 
 
 "A thousand thanks, madame, but my breakfast is waiting for 
 me at the hotel," he said, in his bluffest voice; and then he rubbed 
 his hands in self-congratulation. He had never eaten within the 
 walls of the Red Glove, but it seemed to him that in accepting Ma- 
 dame Bobineau's hospitality, even in Marie's company, he should 
 make a disastrous exchange for his comfortable and ample repast at 
 the Hotel Beauregard. 
 
 Marie came in shyly, and stood still in the doorway. 
 
 The captain got up. He had set down his hat beforehand, and 
 now he gravely walked up to the girl, and, partly standing on tiptoe, 
 he kissed first one rosy cheek and then the other with infinite satis- 
 faction. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Marie," he said, " I will do my best to make you 
 happy." 
 
 Madame Bobineau stood open-mouthed with wonder and curiosity, 
 but wonder conquered, for Marie did not resist the captain's salute, 
 or run away afterwards. She was quite passive. She blushed still 
 more deeply, and then all her newly gained color left her, and she 
 looked very white as she sat down on a chair near the door. 
 
 The captain had turned rather red, but now he rubbed his hands 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " Monsieur must be very hungry," Bobineau said; she was human, 
 after all, and she pitied Marie at that moment.   
 
 "It is true, madame, I am hungry, but I had forgotten it." He
 
 193 AT THE EEU GLOVE. 
 
 turned from his contemplation of Marie, and plunged his hands first 
 into the bottom of one pocket, then of another. "And — and — I 
 have also forgotten — Diahle /" he muttered, "it was not a thing to 
 forget. Mademoiselle Marie " — he bowed stifHy — " I wished to offer 
 you a token of — of friendship, but I have unfortunately left it up- 
 stairs. If you will permit me, I will go in search of it." 
 
 Marie looked at him fixedly. 
 
 "Certainly, monsieur, as you please." Her tone was as lifeless as 
 her attitude, but the captain admired what seemed to him her self- 
 possession. He had some misgivings about the giddiness natural to 
 girls, but Marie appeared to him to have accepted her new position 
 with the dignity which would have been natural to Madame Ca- 
 rouge. 
 
 As he left the room to go up-stairs Madame Bobineau bustled out 
 after him, and Marie was left alone. 
 
 While she had stood in the kitchen nervously twisting her fingers 
 together she had felt as if that which she knew lay before her were 
 impossible to undergo, and then, by a sudden wrench, she had forced 
 herself away from the kitchen door, against which she had leaned, a 
 tall, trembling figure clad in her pale-gray gown, and had come, as 
 it were, recklessly into the captain's presence. How simple an act 
 this so dreaded kissing had been! and yet — For an instant her 
 blushes had seemed to burn into her cheeks, and then she had grown 
 cold as a stone. It had been a mere formal action, and yet Marie 
 felt that she was irrevocably parted from Monsieur Engemann; even 
 if he were free she had put a barrier between them; through that 
 kiss she belonged to Captain Loigerot. 
 
 So she sat in a kind of stupor of despair, while Madame Bobi- 
 neau followed the captain up-stairs. 
 
 "Excuse me for inti-uding, monsieur, but have the goodness to 
 listen to me," she said, as she stood at the open door of his sitting- 
 room. 
 
 He did not ask her to enter. A sort of impatient surprise met her 
 in his small eyes. He considered that she Avas impertinent to have 
 followed him. 
 
 "At your service, madame, but it is a pity you should take the 
 trouble to climb the stairs when I intend to rejoin you below di- 
 rectly. I " — he took a small parcel from his table, and puffed out his 
 words with extra effort — " I only came to seek a gift I v.ish to offer 
 to madcmoiscTie."
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 193 
 
 He -waited for her to precede him down the stairs, but as she did 
 not move, but stood still fully relieved against the white-painted 
 door, looking even more like a brown toad than ever, he stepped 
 past her, and was going down-stairs, when he felt a pull at his coat- 
 tails. 
 
 He turned round. ' ' Madame — " 
 
 "Chut!" She put her finger to her lips. " "Will it not be wise if 
 monsieur first has his breakfast? Marie is a little confused; it is all 
 so new to the child. We will dine in monsieur's absence, and Marie 
 and I shall attend vespers, and then monsieur will honor us with a 
 little visit, and we shall all be ready to walk to the Schanzli." 
 
 The captain grew very red, and his mustache bristled. 
 
 "I— I— I," he began to stammer, with impatience — "I have not 
 yet had a word with the dear little girl. Ma foi, madame, I cannot 
 leave her yet." 
 
 He turned from her abruptly, and went down the stairs as fast as 
 he could. 
 
 But the mistress of the Red Glove was a match for him. 
 
 "Wait a moment, monsieur," she called out; then, as he stood 
 still, she hurried down and stood beside him on the landing. " I 
 have something to say, monsieur " — she meant to smile, but her nar- 
 row lips made the effort more like a grin—" something that cannot 
 be called out from story to story. Monsieur knows perhaps better 
 than I. but I fancy he does not make the most of his advantages." 
 
 "Eh?— what? What is the meaning of your words?" he said, 
 with an abashed look which almost upset her gravity. 
 
 " Well, monsieur, I can explain them, I hope, without giving you 
 offence. If I were a handsome ofBcer, and went courting, I should 
 leave the girl to think a little over the honor I had done her by salut- 
 ing her." Then, unable to keep in her laughter at his look of be- 
 wilderment : " Well, then, if monsieur takes my advice— and I know 
 something about girls— he had better leave Marie a bit to dream over 
 that kiss, till she begins to want another. Aha!" 
 
 The captain was not convinced; he felt like a dog robbed of a 
 bone. " I have left my hat in the parlor," he said. 
 
 " A hundred pardons, monsieur, but I took the liberty." And she 
 offered him his hat, which she had kept hidden behind her. 
 
 Loigerot gulped down a strong word. ' ' I shall meet you as you 
 come from vespers, madame," he said stiffly. " I have the pleasure 
 of saying au rcvoir."
 
 194 AT THE EED GLOVE. 
 
 When Madame Bobineau had let her lodger out, and had closed 
 the door after him, she unlocked a side door that led from the pas- 
 sage into the shop, and, crossing it noiselessly, she peeped over the 
 top of the green blind into the parlor. 
 
 Marie sat where they had left her, pale and still. Her arms hung 
 down straight beside her, but there was absolutely no expression on 
 her face. 
 
 Now that Madame Bobineau had her own way, she felt some com- 
 passion for her cousin. 
 
 " Poor child!" she said, "I do not wonder. He is fat and ugly, 
 and he has no manners. But what will you? The bitterest of medi- 
 cines is sure to be a tonic. Buh! why am I so silly? in six months' 
 time she will have grown fond of her little captain." 
 
 Then she stole cautiously back to the passage, and retreated to the 
 kitchen. She resolved to leave Marie and her sorrow in peace till 
 dinner-time, and she also determined that the dinner should be an 
 abundant one, even if her own supper suffered in consequence. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVn. 
 
 AT THE SCHANZLI. 
 
 Sunday's storm has cleared the air, and although yesterday was 
 gray and undecided, the sun has asserted himself again on this Tues- 
 day morning, and gives every promise of a fine evening. Rudolf En- 
 gemann tells himself this as he looks at some posters pasted on the 
 piers of the arcades. On these is announced a concert at the 
 Schanzli this evening, to be followed by a show of fireworks. Ru- 
 dolf had seen this announcement last night on his return from Bale, 
 where he had to go on business for the bank, and he then determined 
 to get tickets for the entertainment, and to offer one to Madame 
 Carouge. Now he goes into the shop indicated on the poster, and 
 purchases two tickets. 
 
 Going out again he meets the captain, bent on a similar eri'and, 
 but he contents himself with a nod. and hurries on to breakfast at 
 the Hotel Beauregard. 
 
 The captain stands on the door-step and looks after him, balanc- 
 ing himself alternately on his toes and heels. He nods his head sev- 
 eral times, then he shakes it; finally his hands explore his capacious 
 pockets and stay in them. 
 
 I
 
 AT TIIK RED GLOVE. 195 
 
 "The difference of age is on the wrong side;" he smiles; "ma- 
 dame is certainly a fine woman, but the poor fellow will not enjoy 
 life as I shall with my girl-wife. Aha! I shall have my little duck 
 to myself this evening. I've not seen much of her yet. I must get 
 the wedding fixed without delay." 
 
 He looks radiant, he almost smacks his lips, as he turns to the 
 counter and asks for three tickets. 
 
 "I suppose they have them at the hotels?" he says, as he takes 
 them. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
 "Engemann has wasted his money," the captain thinks; "but 
 still he is on the right track. Yes, yes, it is undoubtedly an atten- 
 tion he should i^ay to the widow. I do not understand his absence 
 from the dinner-table yesterday; it did not look well. One cannot 
 be too attentive under such circumstances, ma foi ;" he gives his 
 pocket a slap as he places the tickets inside it. " It was hard work 
 at first with Marie, but I fancy it will be plain sailing now." 
 
 He smacks his lips this time, and goes off to prosecute the morn- 
 ing walk which gives him such a keen appetite for breakfast. He 
 feels impatient for the evening. The storm upset his plans on Sun- 
 day, and the thunder gave Marie such a headache that she went 
 home to bed at a very early hour. He saw her yesterday, but Ma- 
 dame Webern had come into the Red Glove for a gossip, and he 
 could only get a few words with his shy, sweet betrothed. It seemed 
 to him that this evening must reward him for the self-denial he had 
 been forced to exercise. 
 
 The day seemed long, and he was disappointed in his hope of a 
 talk with Madame Carouge. Yesterday she had been absent from 
 her parlor, and to-day she seemed completely absorbed as she bent 
 over her desk, and the captain found it impossible to conquer the 
 awe with which the handsome widow inspired him. She seemed to 
 him a goddess among women, and he regarded Rudolf Engemann 
 with increased admiration as the possessor of this beautiful creat- 
 ure's affections. He dined alone to-day, so as to start in good time 
 for the Schiinzli, and he did not see whether Engemann went to the 
 widow's parlor. Dinner over, IMonsieur Loigerot set his hat a little 
 on one side, and then rolled, in his leisurely fashion, into the street 
 which called itself farther on the Spitalgasse. 
 
 At the Red Glove Madame Bobineau was in anxious expecta- 
 tion: both she and Marie were ready to start, and the old woman
 
 196 AT THE RED GLOVE, 
 
 feared, if the waiting were prolonged, Marie would break down. 
 Just now she had begun to sob. Only two sobs came, and then, 
 clasping her hands, the girl forced herself to be still. 
 
 Madame Bobineau's unusual kindness since Sunday had unnerved 
 Marie. She suspected that it was by Madame Bobineau's invitation 
 that Madame Webern had come in yesterday evening just before the 
 captain appeared, so that there had been no opportunity for privata 
 conversation, and Marie had overheard the old woman request Mon- 
 sieur Loigerot to keep away during business hours, lest he should 
 be in the way of her customers. Now, when the old woman came 
 up to her and kissed her on both cheeks, she had a hard struggle 
 to keep in her tears. 
 
 "That's a good girl," said Madame Bobineau; "a very good 
 girl. You have done very well " — she took a huge pinch of snuff 
 and patted Marie's shoulder — " and you are going to be so happy, 
 dear child. Behave Avell to your husband, and he'll give you rings 
 and brooches and silk gowns, and I don't know what — perhaps 
 some Brussels lace. Moii Bieu, Marie, think of that!" 
 
 "Do not, madame," said Marie, quietly, for they were waiting in 
 the shop, and madame had not put up the shutters lest she should 
 lose the chance of a late customer. 
 
 Just then the captain opened the door and came in, smiling and 
 bowing, first to Marie and then to the old woman. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur, you are in good time." 
 
 The captain nodded, and going up to Marie he' took her hand, 
 bent over it, and kissed it. The girl twitched her hand away with 
 an involuntary movement of disgust. 
 
 " Marie," said Madame Bobineau, " run and fetch my blue shawl, 
 there's a good girl — it must be time to start." 
 
 The girl hurried away upstairs, and Madame Bobineau patted 
 the captain's arm. 
 
 "Monsieur does not mind her shy ways, does he?" she said, in 
 her oiliest tones. "No, no; he is too wise; she's only shy; girls are 
 all a little shy with their lovers at first; but believe me, monsieur, it 
 soon goes off. Men have only got to be patient. Why, when first 
 I began to take snuff 1 used to sneeze;" she stopped and took a huge 
 pinch. "Take no notice. Monsieur le Capitaine, and she'll soon 
 get used to you." 
 
 The captain fidgeted. He felt that Madame Bobineau's simile 
 was superfluous, but his good-nature triumphed. 
 
 1
 
 AT THE EED GLOVE. 197 
 
 " No doubt you arc right, madame. I must restrain mj^ — my ar- 
 dor. She is shy, pretty little angel, aud I like her for it." 
 
 "Ah, monsieur can't think how fond the child is of him. What 
 a thing it is to be handsome and amiable! 3Ion Bleu! monsieur 
 will be a happy man." 
 
 Marie came in with the shawl before the captain's delight had ut- 
 tered itself. He gave the girl a loving look as he took the shawl 
 from her and put it over his arm. 
 
 " Now, are we ready?" he said. " Wc shall find a carriage round 
 the corner, ladies;" and offering one arm to Marie and the other to 
 Madame Bobineau, they started for the Schanzli. 
 
 The carriage set them down near the top of the steep hill, and 
 they walked up through a plantation till they reached the terrace 
 of the Schanzli. 
 
 There were many gay and merry groups already on the terrace. 
 The band was playing a waltz of Chopin's; people walked up and 
 down, stopping now and then to chat as friends met one another, or 
 to gaze at the picturesque view of the town, or at the grand snow- 
 giants now scarcely veiled by the clouds. But the gazers were not 
 so numerous as the promenaders were, and some of them were evi- 
 dently strangers to Berne, for as they sat at little tables sipping 
 lemonade and syrups they were diligently studying a huge chart of 
 the mountains, which was passed from one table to another. 
 
 Some of these travellers did not care about the charts; they were 
 bent on drinking in the beauty of the scene as they paced slowly up 
 and down. Up the side of the steep hill on which the terrace stood 
 were vine-clad houses bowered among trees and glowing flowers; 
 far below them the swift blue-green Aar rushed on between its 
 fringes of slender poplars; while above, on the opposite side of this 
 green valley, lay the picturesque houses of Berne, with the dark 
 minster rising from among them against a background of green and 
 purple hills. Far away, stretching right and left across the horizon, 
 was the magnificent range of snow-mountains. 
 
 Marie stood still; she felt spelled with delight as she gazed on the 
 lovely scene. She forgot the captain and her sorrow — everything 
 but the picture before her. A delicious breeze that seemed to come 
 from the snow-mountains cooled her flushed cheeks and blew her 
 fair hair into her soft gray eyes. As she looked away from the 
 view to the wood behind the terrace, she saw couples seated here 
 and there on benches under the trees. Two figures seated farther 
 
 8*
 
 198 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 off than the rest were indistinct in the increasing gloom. Marie 
 said to herself, " Some of these people are perhaps happy lovers." 
 And then a strange feeling came at her heart, a sort of strangling 
 sensation, and she looked quickly at her companions. 
 
 "I thinlc half the town is here," Madame Bobineau was say- 
 ing. 
 
 "Yes, yes; I think so." The captain's legs were planted very 
 wide apart, and his chest was fully expanded. "Aha! madame, 
 they have come here to see my happiness. Ha! ha! ha!" Then 
 he turned to Marie. "Is it not all pretty, mademoiselle, and the 
 mountains just in the right place? I call that a coup de tJimtre. 
 Eh, Mademoiselle Marie?" 
 
 "Is it very beautiful, monsieur," the girl answered, sadly. To 
 herself she said: "The mountains will soon fade out of sight, and 
 then all will be gloom, like my life; I have done with sunshine." 
 
 The glamour of the scene around her had at once vanished when 
 she heard the captain's voice. 
 
 Just then some one came running across to them out of the dark- 
 ness under the trees. It was Madame Riesen. 
 
 "Good-evening, monsieur and madame. Good-evening to you. 
 Mademoiselle Marie. Have you met Eugene, I wonder?" She 
 tried to smile, but she was evidently vexed. As she looked at 
 Marie, she saw that her hand was on the captain's arm. "I want 
 you to tell me something," she whispered to Madame Bobineau. 
 " Can you spare me a moment?" 
 
 Madame Bobineau took her hand from Monsieur Loigerot's arm, 
 and stood still beside her friend. 
 
 " It is true that your lodger is going to marry the little Marie?" 
 she said, in an unbelieving voice, and she nodded towards the cap- 
 tain and his companion as they walked on. 
 
 "Why should it not be true?" Madame Bobineau was so indig- 
 nant at her gossip's tone that she did not turn to see how quickly 
 the captain had moved forward. 
 
 Loigerot seemed to himself to be treading on air. He had at last 
 got Marie alone without her watchful cousin, and he felt trium- 
 phantly happy. As he walked on he was constantly receiving 
 bows and greetings from his acquaintance, and he longed to an- 
 nounce his triumph, to say to his friends, " This charming girl has 
 accepted me as a husband." 
 
 " Is mademoiselle amused?" he puffed out.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 199 
 
 "Yes, monsieur." To herself she said, "If I could only get rid 
 of you, it would be delighful." 
 
 The captain stopped to speak to a fat old gentleman, whose straw 
 hat almost swept the ground as he took it oflf and bowed to Marie. 
 The girl's eyes met this old fellow's leer of admiration, and she 
 longed to run away from her companion. Every moment seemed 
 to be adding publicity to her engagement, and to be making it more 
 real to her. She looked desperately behind her; she saw 3Iadame 
 Bobineau whispering up into the ear of her tall friend. 
 
 " What are you doing here?" she w^as asking. 
 
 "Ah!" — Madame Riesen drew herself up— "that is what I ask 
 myself. When I agreed to come for the sake of pleasing our gay 
 widow, I imagined she would be satisfied with Monsieur Enge- 
 mann's attentions. I assure you I was walking quietly with Eu- 
 gene, enjoying myself — we had left the pair of lovers seated under 
 a tree — and all at once I looked round to point out something to 
 him, and he was gone." 
 
 "Gone back to the widow, no doubt. Why did you not go and 
 look for him?" 
 
 Madame Riesen shrugged her shoulders for answer. She pointed 
 to the couple in front. "That is a settled affair, then?" 
 
 Madame Bobineau nodded her head repeatedly. "Yes, yes, my 
 good friend. You do not think, do you, that I should permit Marie 
 to walk arm in arm with a man unless he had engaged to marry her 
 — no." She took a huge pinch of snuff. "Marie is lucky, is she 
 not? Monsieur Loigerot is a man of property, and is in every way 
 a desirable match." 
 
 "Yes, yes, my dear friend, that may be so; but he is far too old 
 for the girl." Just now Madame Riesen felt so convinced that her 
 husband had stolen back to the widow that it was a relief to be able 
 to soften her own vexation by tormenting her old gossip. "He 
 would be better suited to me than to pretty little Marie. Poor 
 child, I pity her!" 
 
 "Poor child, indeed! But you are mistaken, my good friend; 
 they are as fond as turtle-doves. But now tell me something. Did 
 the other lovers settle the matter on Sunday?" 
 
 This was a question that sorely puzzled the clockmaker and his 
 wife. Madame Riesen had reproached her husband for his inter- 
 ference, which she affirmed had disturbed the natural course of 
 events, while he stoutly maintained that the widow was only amus-
 
 200 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 ing herself, and had no real affection for the young fellow. But the 
 clockmaker's wife felt that she must keep up with Madame Bobi- 
 neau her reputation for superior information. 
 
 "I fancy so; but"— she put her finger to her pale lips— "our 
 beautiful friend is reserved, you know. Poor thing, I pitied her; 
 Monsieur Engcmann went off to Bale yesterday. It seemed rather 
 unloverlike, I must say." 
 
 "Perhaps he had to go on business," said Madame Bobineau. 
 "By the way, I expected to hear you had all been caught in the 
 Btorm on Sunday." 
 
 "We got a little of it; we had counted on a walk in the pine- 
 wood, and of course that was impossible, so we stayed at the hotel 
 till the storm cleared off, and this rather spoiled sport for the lovers." 
 
 Madame Bobineau looked slyly out of her narrow eyes. 
 
 " I dare say your husband put in a word or two and helped the 
 storm," she said, innocently. 
 
 Madame Riesen tossed her head like an impatient horse. 
 
 "Not at all; it was not that. Of course Eugene and I too had 
 words to say, but the storm drove every one under shelter, and very 
 soon the room was full of strangers, and a tete-d-tete became impos- 
 sible." 
 
 "Ah!" said Madame Bobineau. "Well, I suppose there will 
 soon be a gay wedding at the Beauregard." Then, as she and Ma- 
 dame Riesen came abreast of the captain and Marie, she said to him : 
 
 "Monsieur will be glad to hear it is all right between Monsieur 
 Engemann and our beautiful widow. Here is Madame Riesen, who 
 wishes to offer her congratulations." 
 
 ' ' With all possible pleasure, monsieur, and may I say monsieur 
 has chosen a charming bride. Mademoiselle Marie, j'ou must per- 
 mit me;" she bent forward and kissed the girl. Marie was taken by 
 surprise ; she blushed with anger and shame. It had been easier than 
 she expected to accept the captain as a lover, but she had not guessed 
 that she should suffer this public exhibition, for it seemed to her that 
 he was showmg her off with smiling triumph as his property. 
 
 " It is unbearable," she said, keeping back her tears with difficul- 
 ty. "If I could only get home and be by myself! Perhaps if I 
 ask him he will take me away; he is a kind man, I am sure of it." 
 
 "Madame," the captain was saying, pompously, to the clock- 
 maker's wife, "I trust that the enjoyment of Sunday came up to 
 your — 3'our expectations?"
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 201 
 
 "Yes — yes, — certainly, monsieur" — tbe poor woman would not 
 confess that her husband had been as sulky as a bear, and that the 
 rain had damaged the new mantle she had put on for the excursion 
 — "though the storm ujaset our evening, as it upset monsieur's, I 
 fancy. " 
 
 "Madame" — he gave what he meant to be a most loving glance 
 at Marie — " I was in such bliss last Sunday evening that the weather 
 was indifferent to me — completely indifferent. Ladies " — he gave a 
 bow which began with Marie and ended with Madame Bobineau — 
 "you will permit me to offer you some ices? Farther on we shall 
 find a vacant table near the music. Mademoiselle, I observe, likes 
 music." He pressed Marie's hand with his arm, and looked up in. 
 her face. 
 
 Marie bowed. At least, when they sat down he must let go her 
 hand, and she thought when they rose again it would be possible 
 to avoid this dreadful walking up and down with him. 
 
 She began to think out a means of escape. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVni. 
 
 STILIi ON THE TERRACE. 
 
 MoNSiEtiR Lenoir, the hair-dresser, came bustling up to the very 
 spot where Captain Loigerot and his companions had been stand- 
 ing. He had seen them, but he had not chosen to come forvrard. 
 He considered himself ill-used. Madame Bobineau had not been 
 open with him. He had been a good friend to her — a friend such 
 as few persons possessed — he had not forgotten some trifling civili- 
 ties she had shown him when he was a lad. He had written to tell 
 her when the business at the Red Glove was offered for sale, and he 
 had arranged and facilitated matters for her — he had certainly ac- 
 cepted a commission from the outgoer for having procured him a 
 tenant — and he considered that Madame Bobineau should have 
 taken him into her confidence before she chose a husband for Ma- 
 rie, or at least after the affair was arranged. 
 
 "There has been something more in it than meets the eye," he 
 thought, as he looked on to where the three ladies were seated with 
 the captain at one of the little tables near the edge of the terrace. 
 "I'll wager that our v/idow had a hand in it. Ah, what a woman
 
 203 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 that is!" be nodded approvingly. Monsieur Lenoir's father had 
 been French, and it seemed to him that tlie widow's tactics in this 
 affair justified her nationality, supposing that she had been really 
 afraid of Marie's attractions in respect to Monsieur Engemann. " I 
 can hardly think that of Engemann," he said; "no man would 
 choose a plum, however blooming, before a luscious peach. " 
 
 He looked more like a tomtit than ever, as he walked along, his 
 head set perkily on one side, and his black eyes glittering keenly in 
 large, dark rings that circled them. All at once his beaky nose and 
 his thin, pointed chin quivered with excitement. He had suddenly 
 remembered the encounter at the Bear Pit. 
 
 "Aha!" he said, "and I told madame about it, and I remember 
 that she was extra languid and indifferent. My friend Lenoir, you 
 were at fault; it is not so long ago, and now Madame Riesen tells 
 me that the widow is certainly going to marry that fair-haired giant, 
 who had his hair cut the other day in Fribourg, a mere passage- 
 place between Berne and other cities. Pouff the Goth! as if fash- 
 ion of any kind could be found there!" 
 
 He rubbed his hands together and walked on the toes of his pol- 
 ished boots, for his costume this evening was very elaborate. "It 
 seems to me that the jolly captain is in my debt. I may have been 
 the means of providing the little Marie with a husband. Yes, yes, 
 my friend Lenoir, it was probably your news that you had seen 
 Marie and young Engemann together that set the widow on to make 
 this marriage. The proof will be to see the two couples meet. 
 Well, that must happen sooner or later, unless Madame Carouge has 
 already left the gardens; she looked tired enough just now." 
 
 He had met Madame Carouge and Rudolf Engemann near tlie en- 
 trance, but he had avoided them. Now he determined to go in 
 search of the lovers, and to witness their probable meeting with the 
 captain and Marie. 
 
 "If they are all on the terrace together they must meet," he 
 thought, and he chuckled. lie felt sure "the young giant," as he 
 called Rudolf, would feel awkward between the two women. Go- 
 ing on towards the music platform he overtook the clockmaker. 
 
 " Good-evening, my friend; you seem dull. Are you looking for 
 Madame Riesen? I can tell you where she is." 
 
 "Thank you, Lenoir, you are very kind." Riesen was anxious 
 to get rid of the little hair-dresser. " I left her not long ago. I have 
 promised to seek out Madame Carouge."
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE. 203 
 
 " Come along -with me, then," Lenoir said ; " I fancy we shall find 
 them on beyond there." 
 
 If they had looked into the gathering shadows under the trees 
 they would have seen the widow and Rudolf Engemann seated on 
 a bench at that end of the terrace. The two were really almost in a 
 line with the captain and his party, but the tree under which they 
 were sitting was far back — the whole width of the terrace lay be- 
 tween them and the trio round the table. Moreover, Madame Ca- 
 rouge and her companion sat with their backs to the promenade. 
 
 Madame Carouge was very ciuiet when she first met Rudolf Enge- 
 mann this afternoon ; the delight of his presence overpowered every 
 other feeling; but on her way to the gardens with him and with the 
 Riesens she had time to reflect that he had made no apology for his 
 absence on the previous day; and it had seemed to her when they 
 parted on Sunday that onh' a few words were needed to make them 
 all in all to each other. "Why had he not come to say those words? 
 To-day he was polite, devoted even, in manner, but she felt that he 
 had gone back in warmth. 
 
 " It is my fault, perhaps," she thought. " I am still too reserved 
 with him, poor dear fellow." 
 
 She roused and began to talk with much animation of their Sun- 
 day's journey, till Rudolf became absorbed in listening to her— she 
 brought it all so vividl}' before him. 
 
 "It was indeed a perfect day, madame; but I regret losing that 
 walk in the pine-wood ; though perhaps it is better we could not have 
 it; it seems the more to be desired because it was left undone." 
 
 "Do you wish for it, then?" she said, softly, and as he met her 
 eyes their wonderful languid charm seemed to steal into his soul. 
 
 "Do I?" he said. " When one has experienced the enjoyment I 
 did on Sunday, one is apt to wish that it would repeat itself. " 
 
 " That shall be when you please," she said. " I too feel that our 
 day was left unfinished." 
 
 She looked at him, and again he thought how beautiful she was 
 and how kind. ' ' ilost men by this time would worship such a woman ; 
 well, I suppose I am made of ice." " Madame "—he spoke impul- 
 sively — "how good and kind you are! Will you permit me, then, 
 to go with you again to Thun, and next time we will try to finish 
 our day?" 
 
 To those who sat on the terrace it looked already gloomy under
 
 204 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 the thickly planted trees; but there was plenty of light there; and 
 Engemann saw the strong effect of his words on his companion's 
 face. A sudden light filled her eyes and a flush rose on her cheeks, 
 her bosom rose and fell rapidly ; then she looked down on the ground 
 and began to draw patterns with the point of her parasol. 
 
 Rudolf started, he felt as if some one had suddenly roused him 
 from a pleasant dream. "What am I doing?" he thought. " I do 
 not love this woman ; I must take care — " He paused. " Why do I 
 not love her?" he asked himself. He moved impatiently; between 
 him and the glowing, downcast face rose the sweet, innocent eyes 
 of Marie; he turned as if from a spectre. " It is folly, and worse." 
 Presently he said, " Are you quite sure that Madame Bobineau's 
 niece will marry Captain Loigerot?" He had uttered his thoughts 
 aloud, without considering the abruptness of the transition. 
 
 Madame Carouge rose; she looked imperious, though she tried to 
 speak gently. "Let us go on to the terrace, monsieur," she said; 
 "there you can judge for youi'self. I heard that Captain Loigerot 
 was to be here this evening; we shall find him, probably with little 
 Marie, watching for the sunset." 
 
 Without another look at Rudolf she walked across to the terrace. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE AFTEU-GLOW.' 
 
 They walked across the grass beneath the trees till they came out 
 on the broad promenade, which, when they arrived at the Schilnzli, 
 had been covered with groups of merry people chatting to one 
 another as they paced up and down. 
 
 Now it was almost deserted, though a few couples still lingered; 
 but these had seemingly come to the gardens to look into one 
 another's eyes; and it was surprising, considering the steep and 
 tiring road they must have climbed, that they had taken the trouble 
 to come thus far for such a purpose. 
 
 Madame Carouge looked round with impatience. Not among 
 these sentimental lovers should she find the captain and his fiancee. 
 She glanced on to the edge of the terrace, and she could have 
 stamped with vexation. It was literally thronged with people 
 staring across the valley. She guessed what was happening; she
 
 AT THE EED GLOVE, 203 
 
 had never come np here to see it, but slic knew very -well that all 
 these "idiots," as she mentally called them, were waiting to see the 
 sun set; and as she looked she saw that she had yet some time to 
 wait before they could meet the captain and Marie. No one would 
 be likely to move out of the closely packed line of people that leaned 
 on the wall of the terrace till the "after-glow" had faded; and as 
 yet the sun had not set. 
 
 Presently there was a hush among the spectators. The light clouds 
 that had partly veiled the mountains had floated upward, and hung 
 suspended above the Jungfrau; they gleamed with silvery brilliance 
 as the sun, resting opposite, seemed to gaze at them from a ridge 
 which glowed darkly purple below him. 
 
 All at once he sank behind the ridge, and then, high up on the 
 snowy peaks, which seemed almost in heaven, asoft,rosy light shone 
 out of the glorious mountains. Each moment the glow deepened; 
 the lines just now so brilliant in silver light were first gold and then 
 a dazzling flame-color, the dusky terrace was suddenly illumined, 
 and the valley, which had been blurred into a uniform tint of olive, 
 revealed once more its nestling buildings and fringe of trees below. 
 
 A murmur ran softly along the line of gazers, but their eyes did 
 not stray from the splendid spectacle. It glowed deeper and deeper, 
 and the sky was luminous with golden-edged scarlet clouds. 
 
 Then came a sudden change ; the rosy flames that seemed to have 
 rushed out of the heart of the snow-mountains vanished ; purple, or, 
 rather, gradations of deep, rich-toned color spread up from the base 
 of the mountains and glowed on the opposite hills, deepening and 
 darkening every moment, not so startling or vivid as the "after- 
 glow" had been, but yet more beautiful in richness of color. 
 
 But the gi-eater part of the crowd did not see this beauty, and the 
 closely packed line soon broke up again into groups that found 
 gossip about their own affairs or those of their neighbors far more in- 
 teresting than the splendid study of color in the sky and on the 
 mountains. 
 
 Rudolf Engemann, however, lingered; the purple was changing 
 every instant, and he stood gazing in an ecstasy of admiration at the 
 change. He could not have defined his delight, but as he bent for- 
 ward, enjoying it, he forgot Madame Carouge altogether. He was 
 under a spell, and he felt entranced. 
 
 A little way on from where they stood was the table from which 
 the captain and his party had risen to watch the sunset. The others
 
 206 AT THE BED GLOVE, 
 
 had turned away from it, but Marie went on gazing at the moun- 
 tains; slie did not see that the captain was waiting for her. 
 
 The purple hue faded away into a sombre tone that would have 
 been black if it had been less full of deep color, and this made the 
 golden sky yet more luminous, and the pale, faint green above 
 ethereal in its beautj'. 
 
 "Marie," Madame Bobineau said, sharply, "do you not hear? 
 Monsieur Loigerot has twice offered you his arm, and you pay no 
 attention." 
 
 ' Ah!" — the girl started. " I beg your pardon, monsieur." Then, 
 seeing that he looked kindly at her, she turned to him as to a refuge 
 from the old vexed face of her cousin. 
 
 " It is nothing, my sweet young lady. You — aw — you consider, 
 then, this sight has been worth coming to see?" 
 
 He stood with his legs very wide apart, and his head thrown back, 
 as if he had uttered a question that it would puzzle her to answer. 
 
 The intense beauty Marie had been enjoying had filled her eyes 
 with tears, but she could not help smiling into the captain's broad, 
 bronzed face. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, monsieur," she said; " I am glad we stayed to see 
 it." Then she added, for this seemed a good opportunity for getting 
 away, " It is time to go home, I think." 
 
 She said this to him with a little feeling of triumph, for she felt 
 that the captain would comply with her wish even if it went against 
 that of Madame Bobineau. 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes, if j'ou wish it," he answered. 
 
 Marie had spoken a minute too late. Without looking round she 
 knew that Madame Bobineau was shaking hands with some one, 
 and now the captain looked sharply round as a hand touched his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Monsieur Riesen stood beside him, and in front was Monsieur 
 Lenoir, bowing low to Marie and also to Loigerot, with an indesciib- 
 able mixture of malice and amusement in his bright, restless eyes. 
 
 "Permit me to congratulate you, monsieur." Then to Marie, 
 "Mademoiselle, you have my best wishes." 
 
 Riesen said this with a fatherly, protecting air, while his "wife kept 
 up an accompaniment of " Yes, yes; Eugene has come to offer you 
 his congratulations; yes, yes, that is as it should be." 
 
 "It is so delightful to see people well-matched," said Lenoir, in 
 his jerky, impertinent way.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 207 
 
 Madame Riesen frowned at him, but Marie felt that she could no 
 longer stand still to be stared at and congratulated. " They are all 
 trying to torment me," she thought. Her cheeks burned. "It is 
 not to be borne," she said to herself, but she had placed her hand 
 within the captain's arm, and, as if he suspected her feelings, he tight- 
 ened his pressure so that she could not draw away her hand without 
 his knowledge. 
 
 "Let us walk down to the end of the terrace, "Madame Rieseu 
 whispered to the old woman; " the music is too noisy here." 
 
 "I cannot leave Marie, and we must soon be going home," said 
 Madame Bobineau, repressively. 
 
 " Ta, ta, my dear friend; we have only to lead the way, the others 
 will follow." 
 
 She knew that her husband would oppose any suggestion she 
 might make, and she was completely weary of her old friend's so- 
 ciety. Among the groups now coming up to listen to the music she 
 hoped to find a more amusing companion. 
 
 " Shall we go this way, and then turn and make for the gate," said 
 Madame Bobineau to the captain. 
 
 Lenoir smiled and chuckled. He knew that Madame Carouge 
 must be at that end of the terrace, for he had just come in the op- 
 posite direction, and he had looked there in vain for the command- 
 ing figure of the young Swiss. 
 
 Madame Bobineau and her friend walked so completely in front of 
 her that Marie now felt sheltered. She was not shy of the captain 
 among so many strange people. 
 
 " It is pleasanter to walk without stopping," she said; "does not 
 monsieur think so?" She smiled at him as she spoke. 
 
 " What a little duck?" the captain said to himself. "I believe she 
 is really fond of me; the old woman said she was." 
 
 "Mademoiselle Marie "—he tugged at his mustache — " it is as you 
 say; it will always be as you say, and as you wish, for me; you are 
 as wise as you are beautiful, and — and wisdom is even more rare 
 than beauty in a young lady of your— your years." 
 
 He had puffed out his cheeks in uttering this unusually long 
 speech, till Marie could not keep in her laughter; but she laughed 
 so merrily and pleasantly that the captain took it in good part, and 
 squeezed her hand so tightly and with a look of devotion so ardent 
 that a bright blush rose on her fair face. 
 There was a rustling of silken skirts close at hand, an exclama-
 
 208 -A^T THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 tion, and Marie's eyes dilated as she looked on before her. Madame 
 Bobineau was not to be seen, but Madame Carouge was holding out 
 her hand to the captain. The girl looked up, and she felt scorched 
 and withered. Monsieur Engemann stood beside the beautiful widow, 
 and the girl met his eyes, full of angry scorn. 
 
 "Good-evening, Captain Loigerot." Madame Carouge looked at 
 Marie as she spoke. ' ' I congratulate you ; this is as it should be. 
 It is a pleasure, my dear, to see your happiness," she added, to the 
 girl. 
 Marie trembled, but she did not speak. 
 
 Engemann bit his lip fiercely. " It is true, then," he said to him- 
 self, " she cares for this pompous old satyr." 
 
 The captain was bowing very low. "Madame, I thank you 
 a thousand times, madame — a thousand times, madame! I am a 
 proud and happy man to-night." He stood on tiptoe and tried to 
 whisper to the widow, but his words reached Engemann. "My — 
 my rosebud is all that I could wish. And you, madame," he raised 
 his voice and looked knowingly at Rudolf, "you, I hope, are hap- 
 py as we are." He glanced fondly at Marie, but her eyes were bent 
 on the ground. "Sweet little dove, she is shy," he thought; "she 
 does not like to be stared at." " Come, Engemann, have you not a 
 word of congratulation for us?" 
 
 "I, monsieur!" Engemann looked very stern, but he managed a 
 grim smile. " On the contrary, I have many for you both. I am 
 glad you can be so easily happy." 
 
 He said this mockingly, and he went on in the opposite direction, 
 with Madame Carouge on his arm. He strode along, frowning 
 heavily as he looked on the ground. 
 
 "Well," said Madame Carouge, "are you convinced? They are 
 engaged, and Marie is quite content, you see." 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 The widow glanced at him without turning her head, but she did 
 not again venture to intrude into his thoughts. She felt afraid of 
 him in that moment. 
 
 It seemed to her that he must have cared for this simple-faced 
 child, or he would not be so disturbed by the certainty of her en- 
 gagement to Captain Loigerot. 
 
 Madame Carouge suffered keenly; after all the love she had be- 
 trayed to him he seemed to be slipping away from her. Her passion 
 sought to hold him, and yet her pride kept her restrained. But she 
 
 I
 
 I 
 
 » AT THE EED GLOVE. 209 
 
 loved him too dearly to sacrifice the hope of his love to her pride, 
 and yet not even her absorption in him could teach her how best to 
 approach him now. She walked beside him, silent, Avilh the timid, 
 downcast air of a child expecting reproof. 
 
 At last she said, and her voice sounded tearful, "Need we walk 
 quite so fast?" 
 
 Rudolf started out of his reverie. At that moment he was in 
 reality nearer to Madame Carouge than he had ever been. As he 
 strode along he had upbraided himself for his infatuation; he had 
 called himself a fool ia respect of JMarie, and a brute with regard to 
 Madame Carouge. lie had been cold to this tender, loving woman, 
 for the sake of a girl who had sold herself to a gray beard, and who 
 was evidently rejoicing in the bargain she had made. As he re- 
 called the laugh he had seen on Marie's face, and the captain's amor- 
 ous glances, Rudolf frowned once more heavily. 
 
 The widow saw the frown and she sighed. He turned quickly to 
 her. 
 
 "You must forgive me, madame; I ought not to have walked so 
 fast. How thoughtless I am! I must have tired you past endurance; 
 forgive me; indeed, I have much to ask pardon for." 
 
 She gave him a tender, timid smile. 
 
 " It is no matter; I am not tired; but I believe I must say good- 
 night now. I seem to be sadly unfortunate ; I hoped this evening 
 would have given you pleasure, you who admire beauty so ardently, 
 and instead — " She hesitated. 
 
 " It is not your fault that it has not given me unmixed pleasure." 
 
 He pressed with his other hand the fingers that lay within his 
 arm. 
 
 "In some way or another I fear it has given you pain," she said, 
 plaintively, but her eyes shone with joy. 
 
 "What a lovely, loving woman!" he thought; and his feelings 
 showed in his eyes; "how little I deserve such goodness!" "No, 
 madame," be said, impulsively, " you have been all that is kind and 
 sweet, and I have been cold and ungrateful. I am not myself this 
 evening. I must ask you to forgive me." 
 
 " I?" She gave him one tender glance. "No, no," she said, " I 
 have nothing to forgive. I only wished to make you happy, and— 
 and—" She hesitated; tender, ardent words were on her tongue, 
 but she checked them; she felt that she was on the edge of her fate, 
 and she wished to prolong these delicious moments. "I," she £;aid,
 
 310 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 quietly, "only wished to make you happy, and I do not think," 
 she added, with a little laugh which was pathetic, for it tried to hide 
 how intensely she felt — "I do not think I quite know the way; do 
 I?" 
 
 He released her hand from his arm, and then he took it between 
 his own. 
 
 "What can I say to such sweetness?" his voice was hoarse but 
 full of feeling. "Will you forgive me all my rudeness, all ray cold- 
 ness?" He bent over her hand and kissed it. "I will try to de- 
 serve all your goodness." 
 
 Madame Carouge could not speak; this sudden change took away 
 her breath. She felt lifted off the earth into that paradise of warm, 
 rosy love which the glowing mountains had awhile ago pictured to 
 her. It is strange to find how many-voiced is any grand spectacle 
 of nature as it reveals itself to the varied minds that drink in its 
 message through their eyes. 
 
 She looked up suddenly at her companion, but she did not meet 
 his eyes. He was gazing far off at the purple mass that girdled iu 
 the scene, and made even the terrace gloomy. 
 
 " It will soon be dark," he said, gravely. The sudden glow tow- 
 ards his companion had died away. 
 
 She was not thrown back now as she had been on former occa- 
 sions by his change of manner. The spell of his presence subdued 
 her will, even her sensations, into union with his. She answered 
 him in the same tone : 
 
 " Yes, it is getting dark. I will go home. Monsieur Riesen will 
 see after the carriage." 
 
 Engemann bowed, and they went on along the terrace. She was 
 silent from joy; at last she knew that he loved her. Perhaps he had 
 always loved her, and only the doubt and fear of her own love had 
 clouded her sight with this foolish want of confidence. That kiss 
 on her hand had thrilled through her being; it had been the seal of 
 their love, she thought, and she emptied her heart of the dark fears 
 it had harbored, and sighed softly with almost a weight of joy. 
 
 "Ah! here is Monsieur Riesen," Rudolf said. 
 
 The husband and wife were standing in the middle of the prom- 
 enade, now almost deserted, for though the music had only just 
 ceased, people were leaving the gardens. 
 
 "At last we have found you," cried the clockmaker's wife, com- 
 ing forward ; and the widow thought her cackling voice clattered
 
 AT THE BED GLOVE. 211 
 
 harshly into the delicious silence. "A pair of truants, indeed. 
 But I suppose we must excuse them; eh, Eugene?" 
 
 "Don't be a fool," her husband muttered. 
 
 "Will you have the kindness to find the carriage?" Madame 
 Carouge said to him. "I must go home. I had no idea it was so 
 late." 
 
 But the clockmaker felt that this was the last straw, and that he 
 could not carry it. His evening had been altogether hateful to 
 him, and he had been obliged to admit to himself that, after all, liis 
 wife was right, and that Engemanu was in earnest in his pursuit of 
 the widow; he had not once left her side during the evening. Rie- 
 sen looked at Madame Carouge, and he saw how subdued she was, 
 and how young and happy she looked ; he felt veiy angry. 
 
 "Engemann, my good fellow," he said, "I have a weak ankle, 
 and I should be glad to rest it while Pierre puts the horse in. I 
 told him he might put it up, and enjoy himself in the gardens. Can 
 you find him, do you think?" ''Diable!" he said to himself; " that 
 fellow shall earn his salt somehow." 
 
 Engemann was gone before Madame Carouge could speak. To 
 her dismay, she found herself alone with Madame Rieson and her 
 husband. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 MISSING, 
 
 When Rudolf Engemann passed on with the widow on his arm, 
 the captain stood still, with his mouth wide open, and a look of dis- 
 pleasure on his broad, full-moon face. 
 
 Riesen had walked on sullenly beside his wife, and Lenoir was on 
 the other side of Madame Bobineau. The old woman was whisper- 
 ing to her friend, and Lenoir was dying to hear what she said. 
 
 They had been all too much occupied with themselves to notice 
 what had happened behind them, and, indeed, the flow of people 
 coming up from the end of the terrace, eager to leave the gardens, 
 had by this time completely parted them from the captain and 
 Marie. 
 
 "Ma foiV Loigerot exclaimed— and between his teeth he uttered 
 some very strong Avords — "what docs the fellow mean, sneering at 
 a gentleman? And — and he owes me explanation, and he shall give
 
 212 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 it, or — " And again a strong word came out, louder than before, as 
 he put his hand to where his sword-hilt should have been. 
 
 He had not felt in such a rage since he left the army, and for a 
 minute he forgot where he was; the whole scene became blurred 
 and confused, and he longed to have it out with "this insolent lub- 
 ber," as he termed him, who doubtless had never used a sword in 
 his life. Captain Loigerot was rather obtuse, but his position this 
 evening had sharpened his perceptions, and in his sympathy for 
 Marie's sensitiveness he had become quick -sighted; he had seen 
 ridicule on some of the faces of those who congratulated him, and 
 the malicious sarcasm, as it seemed to him, of Engemann had stung 
 him keenly. It was evident that this young man, rich in personal 
 advantages, happy in the love of a beautiful woman, despised him 
 and disbelieved in his good-fortune. 
 
 For an instant — as he stood bristling with anger from head to 
 foot — Loigerot saw himself as he appeared to Rudolf, middle-aged 
 and doting, fooled into the belief that he was loved for himself. 
 The idea was momentary, but it took his' thoughts at once back to 
 Marie. Her hand no longer rested on his arm, and as he looked 
 round quickly and with sudden alarm, he saw that she was not 
 beside him. 
 
 "DiaUe!" he exclaimed, and the color deepened on his face. 
 "What! Why! Where is my little dove?" He looked eagerly 
 about him, but close by was Madame Webern, the pastry-cook, and 
 Loigerot was far too old a soldier to let this gossiping Avoman per- 
 ceive his discomfiture. He bowed to her, and then he looked tow- 
 ards the table and chairs where they had been sitting. They were 
 empty. Loigerot tried to hide his discomfiture, for although people 
 Avere going away fast, still he met an acquaintance here and there. 
 He had been so triumphant all the evening, he must not betray to 
 these curious eyes any uneasiness in his search for Marie. 
 
 "Poor little dove," he said to himself; he felt in great need of 
 pacifying words. "Poor little angel; no doubt she was tired, and 
 she does not like to be stared at. She has gone after Madame Bobi- 
 neau. Yes, that is it, she has gone after the old woman ; but she 
 should not have slipped away from me. It will soon be dark. It 
 is most improper. Well, well, the sweet child is young and does 
 not know." 
 
 It had been arranged between Madame Bobineau and the captain 
 that they should all v,'alk home together by the lower bridge, for
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE. 213 
 
 Loigerot had not found his drive to the gardens amusing — the two 
 ladies behind and he perched up beside the coachman. 
 
 He stood still, thinking what he should do. The ladies were pos- 
 sibly tired of waiting and had gone home alone. The idea of Marie 
 walking in the dark with no better protector than "old Bobineau," 
 as he called her, tilled the captain with alarm and quickened his 
 faculties. He rolled along to the end of the terrace walk, and then 
 back again ; and after a keen search among the remaining stragglers 
 he hurried to the entrance of the gardens, always looking for the 
 tall figure in a pale-gray gown. But he could not see either Marie 
 or Madame Bobineau. As he hastened along he saw the Riesens 
 and Madame Carouge standing together, but they did not see him, 
 and he avoided them. 
 
 "I am not going," he said to himself, "to let that long-tongued 
 gossip, Madame Riesen, know of my mischance with Marie," and he 
 hurried on. 
 
 Duty was paramount with the captain. He had lost Marie by 
 bis own carelessness; it was his place to find her, and he must find 
 her without delay. At first he had been more startled than trou- 
 bled. After his diligent search through the gardens had failed, he 
 guessed that she had gone away with Madame Bobineau. But al- 
 though his lack of imagination did not enable him to conjure up 
 the doubt and dread which might have affected a more sensitive 
 lover, his common-sense rarely failed him, and by the time he had 
 reached the bridge across the Aar he felt puzzled and anxious, un- 
 able to decide what he had best do. 
 
 The unaccustomed speed at which he had walked no doubt added 
 to his disturbance, but still, even supposing that Madame Bobineau 
 had quitted the gardens when he missed Marie, he must long ago 
 have overtaken the runaways. He stood still on the bridge, puffing 
 and panting; perhaps it would be best to go back and ask Riesen's 
 help in finding them, for, after all, they might have sat down to 
 wait for him in some out-of-the-way corner. But even as he turned 
 back to carry out this idea a new and more hopeful thought came. 
 Madame Bobineau had complained of fatigue as they sat drinking 
 lemonade, and Marie had asked him to take her home. "Was it not 
 more than likely that some friend leaving in a carriage had offered . 
 the old woman and her charge seats, and that she had carried off 
 Marie with her? 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. " She is a wary old bird." he said to 
 
 9
 
 214 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 himself. "She sees I am secure, and she no longer studies my 
 wishes. Well, well, I shall have the marriage fixed a fortnight 
 hence. I want my little girl to myself, out of the reach of the old 
 hag." 
 
 All this time he was hurrying along by the short way to the 
 Spitalgasse— this was up a flight of steep steps in the lofty green 
 bank on which stand the houses and churches of Berne looking 
 down into the poplar-fringed Aar. Loigerot's face had become 
 purple with exertion, and he gasped when he reached the top of the 
 steps. He took off his hat and stood still to recover his breath, for 
 although it was dusk the heat still lingered, with the strange atmos- 
 pheric pressure that threatens storm. 
 
 "PoufP'' he gasped; "you forget your extra weight, my friend 
 Achille, and the years since you were at the Malakoff. Biable! 
 perhaps it is love that helps to make my heart beat; that is too 
 amusing, you old dog;" and he laughed heartily in ^pite of his 
 breathless condition. "Well, well" — he wiped his bald head and 
 put on his hat again — "to work, my friend; it is a hard end to a 
 day's pleasure, but the reward will be the sweeter, and the little 
 rogue shall pay me in kisses. Ah!" He smacked his li^DS heartily, 
 and hurried on iij his rolling fashion to the Red Glove. 
 
 The big red sign looked almost scornful and threatening to the. 
 captain as a ray from the gas lamp glinted on it. 
 
 Loigerot knocked twice, but no answer came. He knocked more 
 loudly a third time. " Diable!" he said; "this grows serious; but 
 I have perhaps arrived first." He looked up again at the Red 
 Glove. Something in the aspect of the bloated sign made him 
 shake his clinched fist at it. It seemed to mock him. He stood 
 still, gazing, while his face grew yet more angry, and he turned 
 away. "I am not going to be made a fool of, and I'll never be 
 laughed at by an old she-devil of a glover. She is gorging herself 
 with supper, no doubt." 
 
 His sturdy legs were very wide apart as he opened the private 
 door with his pass-key. 
 
 ' ' Madame Bobineau ! Madame Bobineau ! " He roared and shouted 
 her name down-stairs, in the kitchen, up-stairs. He had lost all self- 
 control, and he even knocked at Engemann's door. 
 
 The house was like a grave — dark, silent, and stifling in its atmos- 
 phere, for every window had been closely shut by the old glover be- 
 fore she left home.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 215 
 
 Loigerot came slowly down - stairs a little ashamed of his excite- 
 ment ; he stood thinking on the mat in the passage. 
 
 All at once he opened the door, closed it behind him, and hurry- 
 ing up the street he turned to the left, and soon reached the flight of 
 steps leading down to Marie's lodgings. He had watched her home 
 more than once, but when he arrived at the door of the house he 
 had seen her enter, he felt that this proceeding was open to objec- 
 tion: would it not be injurious to Marie if any one saw him at the 
 door of her lodgings? 
 
 "It is dark," he said, "and there are not many people about," and 
 he knocked. 
 
 The door was slowly opened. " Who is there?" a voice asked. 
 
 "Is Mademoiselle Marie PeyroUes at home?" 
 
 The captain could not distinguish anything in the dark passage 
 through the half-opened door. 
 
 " No," and the door began to close. 
 
 Loigerot put his foot just within. "I beg your pardon," he said, 
 politely, " but are you sure ? The young lady may have come in 
 without your knowledge." 
 
 " That is not possible," the croaking voice said; "she has no key." 
 
 " You are quite sure, madame? some one else may have opened 
 the door for her. Will you have the goodness to go and inquire if 
 she is within?" 
 
 There was a pause, then a grunt came from the speaker; the door 
 was closed, and he heard a heavy step going up-stairs. 
 
 He waited with a smile of relief. " It is all right," he said; "no 
 doubt the old woman has seen her home, and has then gone off to 
 some of her gossips. Poor little girl, it is horrible to think of her 
 being lodged in such quarters; but we will make all that right be- 
 fore long. Ah! here she comes." 
 
 The door opened again and he felt radiant, but the same harsh 
 voice jerked out: " She has not come in; she's not in her room," 
 and the door was shut in his face. 
 
 The captain stood looking blankly at the door. So far he had 
 followed instinct, and had felt a sort of blundering surprise at his 
 own cleverness. Now he looked as clumsy and as helpless as a per- 
 forming bear when he has played out all his antics. There is noth- 
 ing to be done in the bear's case but to repeat his performance, and 
 the only idea that came to Captain Loigerot was that he must go 
 back to the gardens and begin his search over again.
 
 216 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 "I came by the short way, as we had settled to come," he said, 
 with self-reproach, "aud the}'^ may have kept to the road and gone 
 across by the upper bridge." He tugged at his mustaches, seeking 
 his usual counsel from them. It was evident that Madame Bobineau 
 and Marie were together, for they were both missing. 
 
 The captain drew a deep breath of relief, and holding his head 
 erect he rolled down the street, resolved to follow it to its end, and 
 thus lose no chance of seeing the fugitives in the event of their be- 
 ing in a carriage. 
 
 " Sacre !" he muttered ; " it was all the fault of that idea of walking 
 home. Achille, when wilt thou learn to be reasonable, and to re- 
 member that thou art no longer twenty years of age, and that little 
 Marie is not taken with thy bright eyes, as some others were years 
 ago? But — but, wi<x/(?2,"he nodded complacently, "I caught her 
 several times smiling at me, little dear. When a girl is shy she is 
 the devil for hiding her feelings, but they peep out spite of her cau- 
 tion. Well, well, the shy game will soon be over." 
 
 He did not walk back as fast as he had come. When he had 
 turned and was on his way to the bridge beneath the railway, he be- 
 gan to meet scattered groups who were returning from the Schanzli. 
 
 " Cid ! where are they?" said the captain, between his teeth. "It 
 is most extraordinary." 
 
 He had just reached the suspension - bridge. Lights were twink- 
 ling among the houses on the opposite bank, and a murmur of 
 voices came up from the poplar - fringed walk far below beside the 
 river. There was a cold gleam on the water, wholly unlike its usual 
 aspect. The bridge vibrated as the sound of a carriage was heard 
 coming across it; the gas lamp at this end was lit, and Loigerot 
 stood under it, ready to examine the occupants of the coming 
 vehicle. 
 
 x\s the carriage emerged from the covered bridge and was passing 
 him, a cry was heard from within. 
 
 " Captain, captain," "Monsieur Loigerot," and from the box Le- 
 noir joined in the duet between Riesen and Madame Bobineau in 
 the carriage. 
 
 Lenoir stopped the coachman ; but by the time Loigerot stood at 
 the carriage door Madame Bobineau had sunk down in a heap and 
 was shaking with terror. She had seen that the captain was alone. 
 She could not get out a word. 
 
 "Here you are at last," said Loigerot, joyfully.
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE. 217 
 
 " Where is Mademoiselle Marie?" said the clockmaker. 
 
 " What have you done with the little one?" his wife cried. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Lenoir, with a grin; "we are anxious:" 
 
 Madame Carouge did not say a word, but her face looked white in 
 the gloom as she peered out at the captain. 
 
 He literally trembled, but he did not speak. He felt devoutly 
 thankful to Madame Riesen's cackle. It gave him time to face the 
 situation at all points, for, in addition to the dread of giving food 
 for gossip, natural to a man of his age and circumstances, as he re- 
 covered from the shock of his discovery, he felt keenly that Marie's 
 good character was involved in her disappearance. A sudden in- 
 spiration came to him. 
 
 "This is amusing" — he forced a smile — "I came to find you, 
 Madame Bobineau. Mademoiselle Marie wants you, and I have 
 something to tell you as we go along. Come, let me take you home. 
 You will not mind a little walk." 
 
 He opened the carriage door and let down the steps ; then he took 
 the old woman's hand and drew her out in such a masterful way 
 that she meekly obeyed. 
 
 "But you will be tired, madame;" the widow spoke sweetly, in 
 the sudden relief that had come to her with the captain's words, for 
 just now she had been seized with a horrible fear when she saw 
 Captain Loigerot standing alone under the gaslight. ' ' Good-night," 
 she said, as the carriage rolled away. 
 
 " Mon Bieu !" said Madame Bobineau; " it is such a relief to hear 
 that the dear child is safe. When I saw you alone I nearly fainted. 
 I sent Monsieur Lenoir to find you ; and when he came back with- 
 out tidings I said to myself, ' MonDieu! ii is all right; Marie is 
 with the captain; he will take care of her; he is almost her hus- 
 band.' So I came along with Madame Carouge." 
 
 " Please to tell me, madame " — the captain's voice was very harsh, 
 and his manner was rude — "what all this means? Where is Marie? 
 What have you done with the little girl? You know very well she 
 is not with me." 
 
 "She is — not with you!" — her consternation w-as too real to be 
 mistaken, but as his frown softened she flew at him and grasped his 
 arm. " I— I, indeed! What have I done with her! What do you 
 mean, monsieur? I left Marie with you. What have you done 
 with her ? Do you venture to tell me you have not taken her 
 home?"
 
 218 AT THE BED GLOVE. 
 
 " Confound you! I tell you I missed her; she — she went away. 
 I thought she had gone to you. I have been to the Red Glove ; but 
 she is not there. I have been to her lodging; she is not there," he 
 said, with slow and angry emphasis. 
 
 Madame Bobineau stood thinking. "What do you propose to 
 do?" she said at last, very quietly, for she began to fear that it 
 might be left to her alone to find the lost girl. 
 
 "I am going back to the gardens, madame. When 1 find I have 
 lost my way, I always go back to the place I started from. It seems 
 to me possible — I only say possible," he said, gravely — "that the 
 poor child felt ill, and she may still be sitting under the trees at the 
 Schanzli." 
 
 He turned away. Before he had gone many steps he came back 
 to Madame Bobineau. 
 
 "You, madame," he puffed out his words sententiously, "had 
 better wait here. There is a bench not far off. You must wait here 
 till I return. If she passes, you will see her. Do you understand?" 
 
 He rolled rapidly away over the bridge. 
 
 "Holy Virgin! he treats me as if I was dirt." Madame Bobi- 
 neau's eyes gleamed with anger. "It must be bed -time. I am 
 tired to death. I will give that hussy a beating to-night if I never 
 give her another; and then I will not lose sight of her again until 
 she is Madame Loigerot."
 
 PART V. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 STAKLIGHT. 
 
 " You are not coming with us?" Madame Carouge said, and there 
 was tender reproach in her eyes, 
 
 Engemann pressed her hand and whispered, "I will be with you 
 later." 
 
 And now as he stood looking after the carriage as it drove away 
 from the gates of the Schanzli he felt a strange mixture of relief 
 and perplexity; at last he was free from the spell which had kept 
 him beside the widow, he was free to think over all that had hap- 
 pened. But there were still several lingerers near the entrance
 
 220 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 gates, and he turned back into the gardens, for he wanted to be 
 alone. 
 
 He found the walk beside the terrace already deserted, and going 
 a little way across the grass which bordered it, he flung himself on 
 a bench under the trees. Here at least he was safe from intrusion ; 
 the trees overhead increased the gloom around him, and he sighed 
 with a pleasant sense of freedom as he leaned back against the tree- 
 trunk to which the bench was fixed, and clasped his hands behind 
 his head. 
 
 Engemann had lived very much alone, and he was not quick- 
 witted; both these causes made it difficult for him to disentangle 
 his thoughts when with others. The glow of feeling which he had 
 experienced beside Madame Carouge had created a mental disturb- 
 ance, a sort of chaos, which he longed to set in order. 
 
 His first idea was that he had gone too far with her to draw back. 
 Well, let it be so; what did it matter now? Then, as the events of 
 the evening passed in review before him, he started up from his seat 
 and began to walk up and down; he frowned, and it was easy to 
 see that he was suffering mentally. But he turned resolutely from 
 the thought of Marie, and seated himself once more on the bench. 
 
 " I do not wish to draw back " — his thoughts went on to Madame 
 Carouge and her tenderness. "I care quite enough for her to make 
 her a good husband, and I believe she cares for me. If I can 
 make her happy, that is all that is necessary to such a plain man 
 as I am." 
 
 He must speak out plainly this evening. He wished there could 
 have been a longer delay. Though Marie was nothing to him, yet — 
 
 "I w^as a fool to come here," he cried out. " This stillness makes 
 the bitterness worse. Oh, Marie, can you be false and worldly, 
 when you look as pure and true as an angel might? How is one 
 to belicTe in anything?" The poor fellow groaned in his anguish. 
 Marie's sweet face rose before him as he had seen it last at the Red 
 Glove, with that look of pathetic entreaty in her soft gray eyes. "I 
 will not believe it," cried he. " She is honest; she is true. There 
 has been some terrible mistake. If Marie is deceitful, then no 
 woman can be true "... 
 
 He remained dumb while a tempest of sorrow swept over him ; 
 and then came reaction. Reality asserted itself, reminded him of 
 Marie smiling in the captain's face, and blushing with pleasure at 
 his admiration.
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 221 
 
 "Good heavens," the young fellow said, furiously, " how could 
 she bear it?" 
 
 It was easier now to go back to Madame Carouge. Yes, he had 
 gone too far to delay ; he had perhaps compromised her ; he must 
 marry her. And then his lower nature came to help him, called up 
 the image of the beautiful woman who had shown him such favors 
 and revealed sweet possibilities of love in those deep, passionate 
 eyes. Then, too, she could remove all anxiety from his life ; she 
 could give him ease and comfort, the means of travelling— a wish 
 so near his heart that he let his thoughts go out to it gladly as 
 to an escape from the miserable thoughts which he knew would 
 return. 
 
 All at once he thought he heard a voice among the trees. Rudolf 
 listened, but all was again silent. Overhead, the stars were begin- 
 ning to show themselves large and luminous, shining with a pure, 
 peaceful light that calmed him. He sat gazing at them, and he felt 
 more peaceful, less bitter towards Marie. 
 
 "I do not know why I call the poor child false," he said. "I 
 never asked for her love; I never even said a word of love to her. 
 Ah, but," he said, impetuously," I did not hide what I felt for her, 
 and she— well, her eyes told me more than she knew, if they spoke 
 truly." 
 
 He got up again and paced up and down on the grass, angry with 
 liis own weakness; he knew that he had himself recalled the temp- 
 tation. The only safety would be in putting a barrier between him 
 and his love for Marie. 
 
 "What am I about?" his thoughts went on. "I have no right 
 even to think of Marie ; I belong to another woman. What I have 
 to do is to marry her and make her happy." He set his teeth 
 defiantly, and then he laughed. " One impression effaces another," 
 he said. "I suppose people will say I am a very lucky fellow. 
 Well, perhaps I am. She is rich and beautiful, and she loves me. 
 I dare say I shall soon forget this evening, or think of it as a foolish 
 dream. There! it is done with. I am due at the Hotel Beau- 
 regard." 
 
 He said this sturdily enough, but he did not at once turn towards 
 the entrance gate. He again paced up and down, striving for calm 
 and for relief from the bitterness which made the duty he had set 
 himself so distasteful. 
 
 "I should have stayed with Madame Carouge," he said, angrily, 
 
 9*
 
 232 AT THE RED GLOVE, 
 
 "and then she would have kept me fascinated, and left me no time 
 to think in. Well, I'll marry her as soon as she likes, and then all 
 this folly will pass out of remembrance." 
 
 But still he kept pacing up and down, 
 
 "What is that?" He stopped. "Is any one in there?" he called 
 out. He peered in among the trees. There was certainly a noise ; 
 it sounded like a woman sobbing. He stood still, listening with 
 strained ears. "Ah," he said; and as a louder sob reached him he 
 turned into the darkness under the trees. As he advanced he made 
 out a figure on a seat placed against the outside fence. It was a 
 woman, for her light gown showed distinctly. His steps sounded 
 on the twigs and dead leaves, and as the figure raised its head the 
 sobbing ceased. 
 
 "It is a woman in trouble," Engemann said. "Poor soul — but 
 she will get locked in. I will tell her she must not stay here." 
 
 By this time he had reached the seat, and he felt puzzled how to 
 act. The woman kept her head turned away, as if, like the os- 
 trich, she thought this would shield her from discovery : and in- 
 deed it was too dark to see her face, the trees formed so thick a 
 canopy. 
 
 Engemann bent down. " Madame," he said, gently, " I beg your 
 pardon. You do not know, perhaps, that the gardens will soon be 
 closed for the night." 
 
 There was a sudden start, but there was no answer, and he waited. 
 He began to distinguish better as his eyes accustomed themselves to 
 the gloom, and he saw that she clasped her fingers tightly together. 
 
 "You are in trouble." Engemann felt strangely moved by this 
 deep sorrow before him. " Can I be of use to you?" 
 
 "Please go away — you cannot help me," came in a broken voice. 
 
 But he recognized it. The shock of his surprise struck him dumb. 
 He stood thrilled with strong emotion, unable to beUeve that he had 
 really heard Marie's voice. 
 
 "What does this mean?" he said at last; then, stooping, he took 
 hold of her arm, drew her up from the seat, and then, too much 
 moved to care for anything but certainty, he hurried her out of the 
 shadow of the trees to the open space, where it was lighter. Then, 
 as he held her by both hands, the better light showed him her pale, 
 tear-stained face, which she sought vainly to hide from his gaze. 
 "Mademoiselle PeyroUes," he said, severely, " what does this mean ? 
 Why are you here alone? Where is Captain Loigerot?"
 
 " WHAT DOES THIS MEAN ?" HE SAID AT LAST.
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE. 225 
 
 As he said the. name he let go her hands, and they fell straight be- 
 side her. 
 
 " I do not know; I do not care. Go away, monsieur. I wish to 
 be alone." 
 
 She spoke sullenly, and turned to go back among the trees. 
 
 " You cannot stay here alone," he said. "I will take you out of 
 the gardens, and then, if you wish it, I will leave you, or I will take 
 you home. " 
 
 "I have no home," she said, in the same sullen voice. Then she 
 ran back among the trees, and he heard that she was sobbing again. 
 
 Engemann stood for a moment irresolute ; then he went after her. 
 She had not gone far; he found her leaning against a tree, sobbing 
 and quivering with anguish, for indeed it seemed to her that she had 
 become an outcast ; it did not signify what happened to her now. 
 
 Her distress softened him. "Poor child," he said, "you have 
 lost your friends. You had better go home at once. Or shall I " — 
 he could hardly get the words out — "shall I go and find Captain 
 Loigerot and Madame Bobineau, and send them to you?" 
 
 She turned to him and held out her hands beseechingly. "No, 
 no; for pity's sake, monsieur, do not tell them where I am. I will 
 never see either of them again." 
 
 A sudden glow of hope spread over Engemann. 
 
 "Marie" — he caught her hands passionately in his — "what do 
 you mean? Which is the truth? Are you the girl I saw just now 
 smiling on the captain's arm? or are you really feeling this sorrow? 
 Which is your true self? What has changed you in this short 
 time?" 
 
 Marie drew her hands away, but she checked her tears. 
 
 "I have not changed, monsieur; indeed I always try to be true," 
 she said, in a broken voice. 
 
 " Then why did you promise yourself to Captain Loigerot?" 
 
 Marie looked up at him in surprise ; he had forgotten everything 
 but her presence; but she remembered quite well that he was en- 
 gaged to marry Madame Carouge, and that she must not betray her 
 feelings to him. 
 
 "What could I do? — Madame Bobineau had arranged it," she 
 said, quietly. 
 
 "Then you did not care for him?" 
 
 She longed to say Yes — this would end his questioning — but she 
 could not. "No, monsieur; I was very unhappy."
 
 226 AT THE RKD GLOVE. 
 
 "And yet you agreed to marry him," he said, severely. "Oh, 
 Marie!" he went on, passionately, "you know — you must have seen 
 that I loved you." She started violently. " And just because that 
 old man is rich you agreed to marry him without giving me a 
 chance." 
 
 "You — loved — me!" broke from her in tones of wonder. She 
 hesitated; then she raised her eyes to his. "I was told you loved 
 some one else, and then — " 
 
 "And then?" He had taken her hand again. 
 
 "And then nothing seemed to signify to me," the poor child said. 
 Her face was hot with shame, though she knew the darkness hid it. 
 
 " Darling Marie," he whispered. 
 
 Marie was greatly frightened when she felt his arm round her 
 waist, but she was very happy too. That strong arm was such a 
 safe shield and resting-place ; all trouble seemed to melt away at 
 the touch of it. 
 
 "Darling Marie, my sweet one!" and he kissed her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN LEARNS THE TRUTH. 
 
 "An irritable bachelor" is a common saying; but the fact that 
 "a single man," as he is called, has no one with whom to share his 
 troubles, ought to excuse the unwillingness with which he submits 
 his back to the burden laid on it. Perhaps, too, having no legit- 
 imate ' ' back " on which to lay the blame of disasters, he has a habit 
 of bestowing it freely in all directions. 
 
 It is certain that by the time Captain Loigerot had reached the 
 steep approach to the Schanzli he had considerably eased his mind 
 by the amount of abuse, mingled with some unsavory epithets, 
 which he, as he went along, bestowed on Madame Bobineau. 
 
 "It is indecent of her," he said, savagely, at last pulling himself 
 up, and setting his hat firmly ; ' ' there is no other word for the con- 
 duct of an old woman who leaves a girl to run about alone in the 
 dark. Tonnerre ! what would have become of little Marie's charac- 
 ter if I had not had presence of mind? Ah, that is a quality, Achile, 
 that one makes acquaintance with when one comes suddenly on 
 an ambush or a masked battery. Ma foi! when I remember —
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 227 
 
 Well, well, I shall keep the girl amused with my stories one of these 
 days, though iudeed I — I shall not forgive her at once. No, no; 
 she shall ask me to take pity on her. To run about alone in the 
 dark! Bon Dieu! But then if the little rascal smiles at me with 
 her sweet eyes and mouth, it will be all over with me in a moment; 
 you must take care, Achille; you must keep a steady hand, and your 
 eyes wide open, my friend — Halloo! stop! Who the devil— Why, 
 Marie!" He had nearly rolled against Engemann, who was coming 
 down the road with Marie on his arm. "Sacre! what have you 
 been doing with mademoiselle, Monsieur Engemann?" 
 
 Then he stood, choked and silenced by his anger and surprise. 
 But Marie snatched quickly at his right hand, and in spite of his 
 resistance Engemann seized on the other. 
 
 "Pardon, monsieur," Marie said. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Engemann, "you have been badly used, and it 
 has been my fault — " 
 
 "No, no, monsieur," Marie interrupted; " it was my fault; I was 
 much the worst. You have been deceived. I — I cannot marry 
 3'ou, monsieur." 
 
 "Deceived! Cannot marry me !" The captain pulled his hands 
 roughly away ; he stood gasping for breath, his legs spread apart 
 till they looked like a large inverted V. "Deceived !" he puffed 
 out, angrily; "it is you who are deceived, mademoiselle; you have 
 promised yourself to me with the consent of your guardian, and you 
 are not of age ; therefore you cannot take back that promise. " 
 
 "Listen; please to listen, monsieur."   
 
 "Do not touch me." He shook her off angrilj\ "You are a 
 heartless girl." 
 
 But Marie clasped both hands round his arm. She did not feel 
 shy of him now, for, although he might perhaps part her from her 
 lover, something told her he would not compel her to marry him if 
 he knew that she loved Monsieur Engemann. 
 
 "Monsieur" — she looked frankly at him — "you are very angry 
 with me, and I do not wonder; but indeed, monsieur, you should 
 have been much more angry with me when I said I would marry 
 you." 
 
 "Bah!" Loigerot turned away his head. It was much lighter 
 out here on the road than it had been under the trees in the Schanzli, 
 and Marie saw that he had turned a deep red, and his ears looked 
 the color of a peony.
 
 228 AT THE KED GLOYE. 
 
 "Monsieur," she went on, "be pitiful; do not judge me too hard- 
 ly; and— and, monsieur, surely you cannot care for a girl who does 
 not love you— who never could love you. " 
 
 " Then why did you consent ?" But he did not trust himself to 
 look at her, and he spoke in a blustering voice over his shoulder. 
 
 Marie looked at her lover. 
 
 "Please to go a little back," she said to him, timidly. The girl 
 began to feel that she had wronged this good, kind man. Till now 
 love and Captain Loigerot had seemed incompatible; she now felt 
 that she had misjudged him, that she had been altogether selfish in 
 regard to him. ' ' Monsieur, " she said, ' ' listen to me : I will tell you 
 the simple truth. I have been a thoughtless girl— heartless, too, if 
 you will ; but indeed I did not mean to be. I— I never thought 
 that you cared much for me. Madame Bobineau said you wanted 
 a wife, and that I wanted a home, and— and that if I did not con- 
 sent to marry you she would give me up, and that no one else would 
 employ me. I was miserable, and I said ' Yes.' I have been very 
 wrong, monsieur ; but— but now I should be wicked if I were to 
 marry you." 
 
 Something in the last words struck the captain: Engemann's si- 
 lence had quieted his first suspicions; he turned round and looked 
 at Marie. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he said, crossly; for the sight of her fair 
 imploring face made his disappointment yet keener. "Do you 
 mean, by chance, that you have a fancy for Monsieur Engemann?" 
 
 Marie hung her head, and made no answer. 
 
 " Did Madame Bobineau know this?" he said, savagely. 
 
 Marie's courage was nearly gone : his rude manner frightened her. 
 She wished she had not asked her lover to go away, 
 
 "Madame Bobineau told me— I cared for Monsieur Engemann," 
 she said; "but I— I never knew he cared for me till— till just now." 
 
 Loigerot swore loudly, and Marie drew back in alarm. Enge- 
 mann came forward and stood beside her, 
 
 " Monsieur, you must not be angry with Marie. You must please 
 listen to me. I have been a big blind fool, and have caused all this 
 trouble. Instead of judging for myself, I believed what I was told. 
 I thought Mademoiselle Marie cared for you, and I gave up in de- 
 spair. We have all been deceived, but I have been a fool as well." 
 
 The captain stood still in the middle of the road twisting his 
 mustache, and the young pair kept silence, like culprits awaiting
 
 AT THE KED GLOVE. 229 
 
 their sentence. Loigerot continued to pull at his mustache un- 
 mercifully, but it brought him no aid in the shape of counsel. All 
 at once he broke into a laugh — it was hardly cheerful, it sounded 
 so derisive. 
 
 "You call yourself a fool, do you, monsieur? It seems to me 
 you have known how to arrange matters to your own advantage. 
 I was the fool to be persuaded into thinking of a wife so much 
 younger than myself. Mademoiselle Marie, I forgive you. It 
 seems to me you have been as hardly used by your cousin as I 
 have ; but I am not going to forgive her in a hurry. She has be- 
 haved shamelessly. She is an old — an old — devil, " said the captain, 
 in a burst of anger, ' ' and I am going back to tell her so. Come 
 with me, mademoiselle. " 
 
 He looked at Marie as if he were not aware of Engemann's pres- 
 ence, but the young man caught his hand. 
 
 "You are a trump, captain," he said; "not one in a hundred 
 would have been so generous." 
 
 Loigerot drew his hand away roughly. "I have nothing to do 
 with you, monsieur. I do not consider you in this affair. What 
 I shall do is for Mademoiselle Marie, and for her alone," he said, 
 pompously. 
 
 "I feel that," Rudolf said, "and I feel, too, that only you, mon- 
 sieur, have the power to shield her from Madame Bobineau's anger." 
 
 Loigerot shrugged his shoulders. " I make no promises, but 1 
 think I have power over the old woman. But with you, monsieur, 
 I have nothing to do — absolutely nothing." 
 
 Then he turned his back on Engemann, and offered his arm to 
 Marie. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he said, "I am at your service, if you will do 
 me the honor to accept any help I can give you. Come. " 
 
 Marie had strained her courage to the utmost while she pleaded 
 with the captain. Now she could hardly keep back her tears, and 
 her fingers trembled so much as she placed them on his arm that 
 he was touched with pity. 
 
 " Courage, mademoiselle! all shall go well," he said. He pulled 
 out his handkerchief and blew his nose violently. 
 
 Rudolf Engemann thought it was wiser to follow at a little dis- 
 tance, so that the sight of him should not irritate the captain. His 
 old esteem for Loigerot had come back, and he felt implicit trust 
 in him.
 
 230 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said the captain, as tbey walked on, "I am very 
 angry with Madame Bobineau, and I promise you I shall not spare 
 her; but she has cause to be angry with you, and be sure she will 
 not spare you. Two wrongs will never make one right, but I may 
 be able to quiet her; she is too wise or crafty to quarrel with me. 
 She knows on which side her bread the honey lies." 
 
 "Oh, thank you," said Marie; "you are very good to me, and I 
 will pray that you may be rewarded for your kindness, and that 
 you may soon find a girl more deserving than I am." 
 
 He broke uito a hearty laugh. 
 
 ' ' Not if I know it, my beauty ! In truth, I am too old. This kind 
 of thing is too much trouble for me. I was very well before I saw 
 you, and in future I shall let well alone. Ah, here is the bridge! 
 We shall find Madame Bobineau at the farther end of it. Courage, 
 my little girl; remember Achille Loigerot is your friend." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXni. 
 ''run to earth." 
 
 Madame Bobineau had grown very tired of waiting. 
 
 "It is extremely dangerous," she grumbled to herself, "to sit 
 here in the night air ; it is enough to give one rheumatism. A 
 plague upon girls, and men too! it is inconceivable what a trouble 
 they are. Good Lord ! that at my age I should be ordered about as 
 if I were a school-girl!" 
 
 She tried to console herself with a large pinch of snuff; then she 
 sat shivering and grumbling. Her thoughts soon went back to 
 Marie. What could have become of the naughty, headstrong girl? 
 It was incredible that she could have behaved so badly, though all 
 girls were alike untrustworthy ; still, she had been better than most 
 of them till now. 
 
 The old woman had restrained her anger before the captain ; but 
 she felt furious at what she called Marie's base ingratitude. She did 
 not believe that the girl was still in the gardens — But here Madame 
 Bobineau found herself pulled up short in her meditations. Where 
 could Marie have gone? She had no friends in Berne; she could 
 not stay out all night; she was not bad enough for that. 
 
 All at once Madame Bobineau remembered that when she asked
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 231 
 
 what bad become of Monsieur Engemann, Madame Riesen bad said 
 be was going to walk liome. The old woman began to shake as if 
 she had ague ; her terror lifted the hair from her forehead, and she 
 wrung her withered hands in despair at the idea that suggested it- 
 self. It was too wicked, too infamous, that two meritorious and 
 honorable persons like Madame Carouge and Captain Loigerot 
 should have their feelings outraged for the sake of a chit like 
 Marie. 
 
 " Engemann is only a fool," she said, in her anger. " Those big 
 men are always soft fools; they do what a woman tells them to do 
 just like lambs. The forward chit has implored him to take pity on 
 her, and — merciful Heaven! what may not have happened? I must 
 be quick, or Madame Carouge will think I had a hand in it. She 
 must be told directly. " 
 
 She rose up quickly; she forgot her fatigue, and her promise to 
 the captain to await his return, and she went hobbling fast down the 
 road till at last she came to the nearest turning to the Hotel Beaure- 
 gard. The long street was as quiet as the grave ; but when she 
 reached the clock-tower she saw Moritz, the waiter, standing out- 
 side the entrance to the hotel, looking about as if he expected some 
 one. 
 
 "Good-evening, madame." His eyebrows rose with surprise as 
 the old woman turned to come in. 
 
 "Madame is in her parlor," she said, more as a statement than as 
 a question; " I can see her." Moritz bowed, and turned to lead the 
 way, while she followed slowly. The impulse which had driven 
 her to seek Madame Carouge was already checked by the fear that 
 now overcame her. She knew how the widow could look and 
 speak when she was angry, and Madame Bobineau's knees grew 
 weak at the remembrance. She felt that she had been foolhardy to 
 seek an interview, and she had half resolved to tell Moritz she would 
 not intrude on his mistress, when she heard him announce her. It 
 was evident that Madame Carouge was at the window of her room, 
 and retreat had become impossible. 
 
 "Madame Bobineau!" she heard the widow say in a wondering 
 tone, and she turned the corner and met her at the open door. 
 
 The lamps were lighted, and the goldfish swimming in the basin 
 of the fountain showed brilliantly through the overhanging ferns 
 and palms. Madame Carouge had laid aside her bonnet ; her beau- 
 tiful head was slightly thrown back as she nodded to the old woman.
 
 232 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 " Ah, how do you do again?" She spoke languidly; then, as soon 
 as Moritz had departed, she closed the door and the window, and 
 turned sharply to Madame Bobineau. " What are you sighing and 
 panting about? Has anything happened, madame?" she said. She 
 did not even ask her to sit down. 
 
 "I will rest, if you please," and Bobineau dropped into a chair. 
 In spite of her alarm the old woman saw that the beauty was moved 
 out of her ordinary self - possession, and this gave her confidence. 
 "I can go no farther — pouf! — I seem to have been running about 
 for hours trying to find that child." 
 
 "Do you mean Marie?" Madame Carouge had remained stand- 
 ing, but now she put her hand on the back of a chair. She looked 
 pale, Madame Bobineau thought. 
 
 "Yes, madame. That wicked old man deceived us. He says 
 he knows nothing of Marie. While he turned his head she ran away 
 — he says— he missed her all at once. Now I ask you, my dear 
 friend, is this likely? A timid girl like that would not go away 
 alone among so many people. I want your advice. What am I to 
 do? How am I to find her?" 
 
 "Where is Captain Loigerot?" The widow spoke severely. "He 
 is the person to advise you. Marie was left with him. I saw her 
 on his arm, smiling and looking as happy as possible under his ad- 
 miring glances. " 
 
 "You saw her?" Madame Bobineau pricked up her ears; her 
 way was becoming easier. 
 
 " Yes. I was walking with Monsieur Engemann. We both saw 
 her, and we both offered our congratulations to her and to the cap- 
 tain." 
 
 "Ah!" and then Madame Bobineau checked herself. She half 
 closed her sly old eyes while she pictured to herself the girl's vexa- 
 tion; no doubt she had run away to avoid this happy pair. 
 
 Madame Carouge no longer held her head erect; doubt had seized 
 her. 
 
 The old woman, seated at a little distance on the sofa, was roused 
 by her silence. She watched her with the intensity of a cat sure of 
 its prey, though in Madame Bobineau's eyes there was a glitter of 
 fear in the tense gaze she kept on the pale, drawn face. 
 
 " Where is Monsieur Loigerot?" suddenly said Madame Carouge. 
 
 "He went back to the gardens to look for Marie. He said the 
 child might be there still. He told me I could wait at the bridge;
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE, 233 
 
 but, 7non Dieu ! I could wait no longer. I was too anxious, and I 
 wanted your advice, dear madame." 
 
 Madame Carouge walked up and down several times. Slie dared 
 not speak lest the terrible fear that racked her till it seemed as if 
 she could no longer endure the pain it gave should shape itself in 
 words. By degrees she grew quieter; and when she spoke again to 
 Madame Bobineau, the sharp-eyed old woman was surprised at her 
 calm tone. 
 
 " I am trying to think for you, madame, and it is not easy," she 
 said. " First, I must tell you that you have been greatly to blame 
 — shamefully careless. I warned you, you must remember, that you 
 were not fit to be the guardian of such a girl, and that the Red Glove 
 was not a fit place for her. Hush! you must not interrupt!" She 
 fixed her eyes imperiously on Madame Bobineau, and the color came 
 back to her own face. "Marie will be found," she said, bitterly. 
 " I feel sure the captain will discover her and bring her home. No 
 doubt she got tired of him and slipped away. Now listen to me. 
 You must tell the girl that you will not urge on the marriage with 
 Captain Loigerot at present, but that you cannot keep her at the Red 
 Glove after this disgraceful conduct. You know it is possible the 
 captain will be very angry, and no one can wonder if he is." 
 
 " He is very fond of the child," said Madame Bobineau. 
 
 " Be quiet, will you?" and another frown silenced the old woman. 
 "I will have your shop minded to-morrow, and you must see that 
 child off to Lucerne. She must not stay another day in Berne. Send 
 her back to her friends at St. Esprit. I will pay all expenses, and I 
 will write to the Superior. You understand? Marie must not re- 
 main in Berne after to-morrow. I have your authority, I imagine, 
 madame, for saying that the girl is bold and indiscreet, and requires 
 training till she can conduct herself more modestly." 
 
 "How good you are!— always good, always beautiful." In her 
 relief Madame Bobineau took a huge pinch of snuff, and brought 
 tears into her eyes. " Yes, indeed," she whimpered; "what you say 
 is more than true, dear lady. I have seen her look at that noble 
 young man. Monsieur Engemann, in a way that, had he not been 
 devoted to you, might have led him to notice her. She was so vain 
 I believe she thought he admired her." 
 
 Madame Carouge made a quick step forward, and then stopped 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Peace, you vile old woman! How dare you sit there telling
 
 234 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 what is your own shame? At the first glimpse of such behavior 
 in the girl you should have shut the hussy up in a room and kept 
 her on bread and water till you had sent her back to her convent. 
 Why did you not come to me at once for advice? How do you 
 know what has happened to-night? I am not sure that the wicked 
 gM is fit to be admitted among those saintly sisters again." 
 
 Madame Bobineau crouched till her chin almost touched her 
 knees. She felt as if those fierce black eyes shot lightning, and 
 the words pelted like a storm of hail. 
 
 " Yes, yes, madame, I have been to blame," she said, feebly. "I 
 will take her away; I will do all you say. What did you say I was 
 to tell Marie?" 
 
 "Not a word about my advice in the matter. Tell her that she 
 has lost her character by this misconduct, and that you cannot keep 
 her at the Red Glove. She will be glad enough to go, to escape the 
 captain's anger. I tell you that a few weeks of dull convent life, 
 now that she has had a peep at the world, will make her thankful to 
 marry him by-and-by. That is all I have to say. You can go now." 
 
 She stamped her foot impatiently. 
 
 At the door Madame Bobineau turned back to seek for her snuff- 
 box. In her terror it had slipped from her hand on to the sofa, and 
 she felt sorely in need of comfort. 
 
 Madame Carouge turned her back on her, and stood bending over 
 her desk till the old woman had disappeared. 
 
 Meantime Marie had reached her lodging. There had been a 
 little more talk between her and the captain as they walked up the 
 street; but lately they had been silent, and indeed the girl was ex- 
 hausted with the varied emotions she had gone through. She could 
 not have kept up a conversation. 
 
 Engemann followed them, but he felt that it was wiser to leave 
 Loigerot in peace. He was surprised and puzzled at all that had 
 happened, but still he felt inclined to trust the little round man who 
 rolled along with Marie on his arm. 
 
 When they reached the door of her lodging the captain took the 
 girl's hand in his. 
 
 "My child," he said, "you have done well to trust me. It 
 would— aw— it would have been better for us all if you had trusted 
 me at the beginning. Yes, Mademoiselle Marie, it would have been 
 much better."
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 235 
 
 Marie held his hand a moment; then, before he could stop her, 
 she bent down and kissed it. 
 
 "Monsieur" — she was crying now — "you are too good, too kind, 
 tome. I am very, very grateful. I shall always love you." 
 
 Loigerot patted her shoulder. "There, there," he said, "not too 
 much of that, or I may change my mind yet, little one, and take you 
 at your word." 
 
 He cleared his throat, and in quite another voice he said to 
 Engemann, 
 
 "Monsieur, you can say good-night to mademoiselle." 
 
 He stood by while they shook hands. Then, when the door had 
 closed on Marie, he looked at Rudolf from head to foot. 
 
 "You are a pretty fellow, Rudolf Engemann," he said, slowly, 
 "a very pretty fellow. Ma foi! you quiet ones play the deuce 
 with the women ; but you ought to look happier than you do to 
 have won the liking of two such women — eh, mo7i Dieu! I tell 
 you so. Now what the devil do you mean to do with the widow?" 
 he said, sharply. 
 
 Certainly Rudolf Engemann did not look like a happy lover; he 
 had a limp, dejected aspect as he returned the captain's humorous 
 stare. 
 
 " Monsieur," he said, "you are right; I feel like a fool. But first 
 of all I must beg your pardon — yes, I was very rude to you, unjust 
 too, while you have been most generous and forbearing. Well, I 
 had grown desperate: if I had not found Marie miserable among the 
 trees at the Schiinzli, I believe I should have gone on to the hotel, as 
 I promised Madame Carouge, and I should have proposed to her." 
 
 The captain snapped his fingers triumphantly. ' ' Then you have 
 not done it? Mon Dieu! that is good news— good indeed;" he 
 slapped his leg emphatically. "You ai'e wiser than I thought. I 
 fancied she had hooked 5'ou long ago, and that you had been play- 
 ing fast and loose between her and my little girl." Then, as he 
 looked at Engemann's troubled face, " Tonnerre! what is the matter 
 now? You do not deserve your good-fortune, my lad, if you can- 
 not enjoy it," he said. 
 
 "I tell you I was miserable and desperate, " the young fellow 
 said, moodily, "and — and although I did not propose in so many 
 words, I have paid Madame Carouge more attention this evening 
 than I ever did before. I even said I would call on her, and I know 
 she is now expecting. me. What am I to do?"
 
 236 -^T THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 They had walked on side by side, and now they stood beneath 
 the Red Glove. It seemed to point its fat thumb derisively at En- 
 gemann, and one might have fancied that his words were echoed up 
 there from its dark perch: "What am I to do— to do?" 
 
 Rudolf looked so disconsolate that the captain forgot everything 
 but his amusement; he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and 
 laughed till the tears came to his eyes. 
 
 " What are you to do ? That is a pretty question for a smart 
 Don Juan like you to put to a man of my years 1 What are you to 
 do? Mafoi! you cannot keep them both." 
 
 He laughed again, till the Red Glove seemed to sway backward 
 and forward in sympathy with his mirth. 
 
 Engemann turned impatiently away. "I suppose I had better go 
 to Madame Carouge and tell her the truth like a man: it is the fair- 
 est way." And he plunged into the darkness under the arcade. 
 
 "Hold! stop! stop! Are you mad?" and there was the captain 
 panting and holding on to the skirts of the young fellow's coat. 
 "What a devil of a pace ! — whew ! — stop, my fine fellow 1" he 
 gasped. 
 
 It took Loigerot a few minutes to recover himself; then he put 
 his arm into Engemaun's, and led him back to the Red Glove. He 
 opened the private door and pointed to him to go in. 
 
 "Upon my word!" he said. "I am a bachelor, but I might as 
 well be a father, for the trouble I have had to-night among the set 
 of you. Go up-stairs quietly, my boy, and get to bed as fast as you 
 can, and go to sleep too, if you can. You go to the widow and tell 
 her the truth! You might as safely walk up to the mouth of can- 
 non in action as trust yourself with her to-night." 
 "But my promise? I said I would see her to-night." 
 The captain looked at the young fellow out of his half-closed 
 eyes. "Your promise! Pie-crust— you understand! You are as 
 fit to see her, my young friend, as a bird is to pay a visit to a hun- 
 gry cat. No, no ; you leave the widow to me. She is a fine creat- 
 ure, and full of goodness, no doubt— they all are— but she is a wid- 
 ow in love, and that's the devil. Poor thing! I am sorry for her, 
 though. But she and I are in the same boat, and we must console 
 each other. Yes, yes; I will manage the affair. I will let her sleep 
 over it, and to-morrow I will bring her round famously. It will be 
 difficult," he said, pompously, "but don't you be afraid. There! 
 there! be off! m with you! Be quiet, I tell you!"— as the young
 
 AT THE RED GLOVE. 237 
 
 fellow began to pour out his gratitude. "I don't say I have for- 
 given you yet for robbing me of that pretty child. Now for the 
 old hag, " he said to himself, when Engemaun had gone up-stairs, 
 "for she has made all the mischief. I must find out if she has 
 come in yet." 
 
 He lit a cigar, and then he called gently for Madame Bobincau. 
 It was possible that she had gone home to bed as soon as he left 
 her. But the gas in the entrance-passage was not lighted, and this 
 was an unusual omission. 
 
 "No, she has not come in," he said, when he had stood for some 
 time listening. He shut the door, and then he went out into the 
 arcade to wait for the old woman. 
 
 He had not long to wait. Before she saw him, as he stood in the 
 shadow of the arcade, he saw her crouching figure hobbling along. 
 She was still trembling from the effect of her interview with Ma- 
 dame Carouge, and grumbling to herself, when all at once she look- 
 ed up and perceived the captain standing at the door of her house. 
 
 "What have you done with Marie?" she said, angrily. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Peyrolles is in her lodging; and in future, Madame 
 Bobineau, when you want to dispose of anything, be careful first to 
 make sure that it does not belong to some one elsa You have de- 
 ceived me." 
 
 Madame Bobineau was tired and hungry, and angry besides. All 
 the temper suppressed by the stronger passion of Madame Carouge 
 flew out rebelliously. She longed to fly at the captain; she would 
 have pulled his hair and scratched his face if the remembrance that 
 he was her first-floor lodger had not restrained her. 
 
 "Monsieur," she said, coldly, "it is I who have reason to com- 
 plain. I trusted you with Marie, and you lost her. However, I 
 suppose you and she have made it up; so I will say no more about 
 it to-night, but to-morrow I must have an explanation. " 
 
 "Sacre! you bad old woman, Tou will say no more! y^nt Vi'iW 
 have an explanation ! Tonnerre ! this is excellent, on my soul. 
 Madame Bobineau," he went on, with dignity, "Mademoiselle 
 Marie is my friend; I shall always have a great regard for her; but 
 she will never be anj'thing more than a friend to me. Poor little 
 girl ! she was utterly miserable, and she left me. I found her in 
 the dark with her lover, Monsieur Engemann; so you see, madame, 
 if you wish to save her character, you must let the young people 
 marry."
 
 238 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 "Let them marry!" she shrieked. "Never! Let her marry a 
 beggarly clerk! Never! never! Marie is under age, and I refuse 
 my consent. I shall take her back to her convent to-morrow." 
 
 "Keep yourself quiet, you old fool," the captain said, in a low 
 voice; "the neighbors will hear. Do you want Madame Webern 
 to know all that has happened? Come in-doors and light the 
 lamp." 
 
 She obeyed sullenly. 
 
 "Good-night, monsieur," she said, when the lamp was lighted, 
 " You will have changed your mind by to-morrow." 
 
 "Stop a bit," he said, and he placed himself in front of the door 
 of her room, his bulk filling up the narrow passage so that she could 
 with difficulty have squeezed by him. "You had better under- 
 stand me distinctly. I never change a purpose, madame, unless I 
 find that events prevent me from carrying it out. That is not likely 
 to happen in this case. I meant to marry your cousin, but you 
 yourself have made this impossible." 
 
 ' ' I !_oh, monsieur, you have been grossly imposed on. Oh, that 
 little hussy shall pay for this!" 
 
 "Do not dare to call that poor child names. Now listen to me. 
 I am tired, and I want to go to bed. So these are the last words I 
 have to say." He had taken his cigar out of his mouth, and he 
 used it to emphasize his words as he spoke. "If you say so much 
 as one unkind word to Mademoiselle Marie I will leave your lodg- 
 ings, and I will let Lenoir and every one know of your infamous 
 conduct. How dared you tell me that Marie was fond of me and 
 willing to marry me, when at the same time you told her she was 
 fond of young Engemann?— and then you leave her in the gardens 
 alone with me." He shook his cigar menacingly. " You have not 
 many friends ; you will not have one if I open my mouth, and I will 
 do it if you disobey me. Marie has compromised herself with that 
 young man— very well. They must be betrothed. After that send 
 her back to her convent till he is able to marry her, for marry her 
 he must. Now, madame, you know the position. Do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 Madame Bobineau understood very well. She longed to defy 
 this high-handed captain, but her courage failed her. "Monsieur 
 is very hard on me," she whimpered. 
 
 " On the contrary. And mark you, madame, if when Engemann is 
 ready to marry your cousin, you refuse your consent "—he frowned
 
 AT THE EED GLOVE. 239 
 
 till bis raustaclie quivered, and he looked surprisingly fierce — " bon; 
 I shall then know how to deal with you, and I shall expose tho 
 abominable conduct you have used towards me and Mademoiselle 
 Marie to all the world." 
 
 He turned his back on her, and walked deliberately up-stairs. 
 
 Madame Bobineau sat down on the lowest step, and wrung her 
 hands in impotent fury. 
 
 "Horrid, wicked old man! I hate him!" she muttered: "but he 
 pays me twice as much as any lodger ever paid before, and he is a 
 friend of Madame Carouge. OIi, if he were only some one else!" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 now LOIGEROT MANAGED THE WIBOW. 
 
 MoRiTz the waiter looked disturbed as he went about his duties 
 this morning. The hectic flush had spread over his hollow cheeks, 
 and there was an angry brightness in his melancholy brown eyes. 
 Evidently something had gone wrong with the head-waiter of the 
 Beauregard. If you followed the direction of his eyes you would 
 soon have discovered that every time he went in and out of the 
 breakfast-room he glanced across at his mistress's parlor. More- 
 over, he made several needless journeys up and down stairs, so that 
 he might get a good look at her. 
 
 Moritz was indeed greatly troubled. Last night Madame Carouge 
 had been superb ; she had come in blooming and radiant ; what 
 could have happened to change her this morning into a pale, heavy- 
 eyed statue, so silent and preoccupied that she seemed unable to 
 attend to business, and had sent away her breakfast untouched? 
 
 Moritz felt that some one had to bear the blame of this change, 
 and he hesitated between "old Bobineau," as he termed her, and 
 Monsieur Engemann. 
 
 When Madame Carouge came in last night she had told him she 
 would receive Monsieur Engemann when he called, and the waiter 
 had felt full of jealous trouble. He adored his beautiful mistress, 
 and he felt that virtually he was master at the Beauregard; the idea 
 that this bank clerk, some years younger than himself, was to be set 
 over his head was exasperating. When Engemann failed to appear, 
 and Madame Bobineau paid that short stormy visit, which he had 
 carefully noted, he did not know what to think, 
 
 10
 
 240 AT THE RED GLOVE. 
 
 He had heard all the chatter that Lenoir could furnish him with; 
 and indeed, by the help of Madame Riesen and of Lenoir, the gos- 
 sips of Berne had been living on the events of these double court- 
 ships during the past week. Moritz suspected that Engemann was 
 playing a double game — flirting with Marie, while he intended to 
 marry the widow — and this idea had increased his dislike of the fair 
 young giant. Eudolf's coolness and self-possession always irritated 
 the nervous man, whose movements were as rapid as his wits were 
 sharp. That " such a slow-wit," as he termed Engemann, without 
 any savoir -falre, should aspire to beautiful, wealthy Madame Ca- 
 rouge was most audacious. That she should encourage such a dull, 
 half hearted lover was astounding; but at this idea Moritz always 
 shrugged his shoulders. He knew she had had a bad time with Ca- 
 rouge, poor soul; she was not to be blamed if she thought that his 
 opposite in all respects was likely to make her happy. "Women 
 only look outside," Moritz told himself. 
 
 But what could have happened to change her so? Madame Bobi- 
 ncau had probably brought her a message from Engemann. 
 
 The widow had closed both door and window, but Moritz had 
 heard fragments of the wordy battle through the key - hole of the 
 door of communication between his own little office and his mis- 
 tress's parlor. This morning, when breakfast was over and Enge- 
 mann did not appear, the head-waiter could do nothing but rush to 
 the door at intervals, and stare expectantly down the street. 
 
 The morning went on, and all the early breakfasters departed. 
 There was a lull in the house, but Madame Carouge did not take ad- 
 vantage of this, as she often did, to go up-stairs to her room. 
 
 She sat at her desk trying to add up the same long column of fig- 
 ures which had occupied her all the morning. She had stayed up 
 till midnight waiting for Engemann, and then she had gone to bed 
 heart-sick and weary; but she had not slept. She had guessed at 
 some of the truth while Madame Bobineau told her story; but for 
 all that she had not given up the hope of marrying Monsieur Enge- 
 mann. He was not to blame, poor fellow! How could he help it 
 if that girl had thrown herself on his protection, and asked him to 
 deliver her from the captain? He might even have felt obliged to 
 see her home. "The old woman has pressed her too hard," she 
 said; " she is a commonplace tyrant without any tact, and the girl 
 in despair has flung herself on Monsieur Engemann's protection." 
 
 The keen torment roused by this idea robbed her of sleep, but she 
 
 1
 
 AT TEIK EED GLOVE. 241 
 
 tried to assure herself that Rudolf had gone too far with her to 
 draw back. " lie is not a mau to kiss a woman's hand, and to look 
 at her as he looked at me, if he were only trifling. No, he could 
 not trifle with me; he is too true and simple," she repeated over 
 and over again, but without much effect. 
 
 Matters looked worse this morning. ' She had risen early, and 
 dressed herself with extra care; she sent word to Lenoir she did not 
 want his services : she was really afraid of his keen eyes. Her hope 
 was that Rudolf would appear earlier than usual; but he had not 
 even come to breakfast, and he was already due at the bank. Last 
 night she had got rid of her anger on Madame Bobineau ; now, as 
 she waited, her color began to return, and her eyes, in spite of their 
 heavy lids, looked dangerous. 
 
 "I will not judge him," she kept on saying vehemently to herself. 
 "It is of course very strange, but the dear fellow may have reasons. 
 I will not say anything I may be sorry for later on." 
 
 But her color flickered at the mere sound of a footstep, and at 
 last she gave up the figures she had tried to add up as hopeless, and 
 seated herself on the sofa with a newspaper, but after a few min- 
 utes it lay upside down on her lap. 
 
 Presently Moritz looked in at the window. "Madame, will you 
 see Monsieur Loigerot?" 
 
 "By all means," she said, joyfully. The thought came that Ru- 
 dolf was too modest to plead for himself— the captain was his am- 
 bassador. "Good-morning" — she went forward and shook hands 
 cordially, when Loigerot's bald head bowed down in the door-way. 
 "You are early this morning, monsieur." 
 
 Then, as he still lingered in the door-way, she pointed to a chair 
 near the sofa. 
 
 The captain came forward slowl}^ but he stood before her instead 
 of sitting down. 
 
 "Pardon mc, madame— aw— I have a few words to say to you 
 privately; that is— aw— if you will condescend to listen." 
 
 He looked so absurd, so nervous, as he half closed his eyes and' 
 tugged at his mustache, that the widow could not help smiling. 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure, monsieur," she said, in her most 
 charming way. "Will you have the goodness to shut the door?" 
 
 " She is divine to look at," he said to himself; " but I believe she's 
 got a devil of a temper. Engemann is well out of it, and I wish I 
 was well out of it too."
 
 243 AT THE KED GLOVE. 
 
 The captaiu felt that he understood the widow, but he also felt 
 that he did uot understand how to manage her. 
 
 "I am not sure about the pleasure, madame," he said, nervously, 
 "but you are full of charity and sweetness — I am sure you are, and 
 — and I want to ask you to do an act of charity. I — I — " He felt 
 stuck here, he looked at her helplessly. 
 
 "A charity, monsieur? Is it a case of distress? Yes, indeed, 
 monsieur, you may count on me; I am always ready to help distress. 
 It is so sad to let others go on suffering," she said, pathetically, 
 " when we have the means of helping them." She was disappointed; 
 he had not come, then, on the errand she hoped. 
 
 Loigerot had gone on tugging at and twisting his mustache, and 
 now he felt that the widow was looking keenly at him, searching 
 him through and through. Drops started out on his forehead, and 
 his tongue felt stiff and useless. All at once the thought of Marie's 
 white, tear-stained face came to help him. 
 
 "You are very kind and quite right, madame, and I have a case 
 of real distress to lay before you which you have power to help. I 
 want you to befriend little Marie Pcyrolles— to take her part against 
 Madame Bobineau." 
 
 Madame Carouge's face grew set, and her eyes looked hard. She 
 shook her head. 
 
 "Madame Bobineau is the child's guardian," she said, repressive- 
 ly. "I cannot interfere. " She began to feel that the ground was 
 slipping from under her feet. 
 
 "You are right again, madame," he said, pompously, "perfectly 
 right. Madame Bobineau is her guardian; but she is — well, I let 
 her off easy when I^^ay she is a bad, treacherous old woman." 
 
 Madame Carouge laughed. " No, no, monsieur; you are too hard 
 on the poor old woman. It is easy to see that j'ou have been misin- 
 formed. I cannot, of course, speak unfavorably to you of Made- 
 moiselle Marie, but I fear she is prejudiced against her kind old 
 cousin; but v.hy come to me, monsieur? surely j^ou are Marie's best 
 protector." 
 
 "I!" he put up both hands, then he shrugged his shoulders. 
 " Now for it," he thought, and as the swimmer shuts his eyes and 
 plunges into the water, he dashed on. "Pardon me, I forgot, ma- 
 dame: there is still something to be explained to you. That old 
 woman has deceived the poor child as much as she has deceived me. 
 Luckily I made a discovery last night." The widow had put her
 
 " MADAME, I THANK YOU.'
 
 AT TUE RED GLOVE. 245 
 
 hand before her mouth to hide a yawn, but at his last words she lis- 
 tened attentively. "Yes, madame, a discovery which will perhaps 
 surprise you as much as it surprised me." He raised his hand and 
 pointed a fat forefinger at the widow. "It is not me that Madc- 
 moiselle Marie wishes to marry; it is Monsieur Rudolf Engemanu, 
 and I have given her up." 
 
 Madame Carouge rose, her eyes flashed out brightly on the cap- 
 tain, then she laughed, but the laugh was not natural. 
 
 "Nonsense! You have been listening to gossip, monsieur; you 
 have got your story upside down. I think you are very ungrateful 
 to talk of giving up the little girl after all my trouble for you. As 
 to Monsieur Eugemann," she said, derisively, "I happen to know 
 on good authority that he — loves some one else. You have made a 
 very foolish mistake. Captain Loigerot." 
 
 The captain reddened at the scorn in her voice, 
 
 " I have made no mistake, " he said, roughly. " I saw and judged 
 for myself. " 
 
 "You saw!" she said, vehemently. "What are you talking 
 about?" 
 
 He raised his hand. "Calm yourself, madame. You and I are 
 older than these young people are: let us be more reasonable. I 
 have given up my hopes. Will the ' some one else ' you speak of be 
 less generous?" She turned angrily away and walked across the 
 room. The captain rubbed his hands — he thought this had been a 
 most successful manoeuvre; he followed the widow as she walked. 
 "I believe," he said, "that Monsieur Engemann has not offered him- 
 self to the 'some one else.' Ah, madame, think how young they 
 are— they are well matched — and how they love each other." He 
 put his hand on her arm. " Listen, madame, I will tell you." 
 
 She turned round — she was listening eagerly with half -closed 
 eyes. " They love each other. Well, monsieur?" 
 
 Loigerot felt encouraged; he cleared his throat. "Yes, yes, ma- 
 dame; you should have seen them together when I found them last 
 night — poor love - birds ! I was very stern at first, mind you ; I 
 scolded them well ; but I saw I must give in to the force of circum- 
 stances." Then he raised himself on tiptoe, and whispered, in what 
 he meant for a coaxing tone, " Surely ' some one else ' does not want 
 to keep a man who loves another woman." 
 
 The captain was not very steady on tiptoe, and as he looked up
 
 246 AT TUE KED GLOVE. 
 
 earnestly at the -widow, a stinging box on the ear nearly sent him off 
 his legs. 
 
 "Take that for your pains, you chattering busybody!" said Ma- 
 dame Carouge, looking splendid in her fury, as she towered above 
 the astounded man. 
 
 " Tonnerre!" he put one hand to his ear, and the other to where 
 his sword used to hang. Then he drew himself up and smiled. 
 "Madame, I thank you for the lesson." He bowed. "I am con- 
 soled. Marie is only a kitten at present, but you — aw — you have 
 shown me what she might have grown to. Madame, I — I have the 
 honor to take my leave." 
 
 I 
 
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 WHAT SOCIAL CLASSES OWE TO 
 EACH OTHER. 
 
 By "William Graham Sumner, Professor of Political and So- 
 cial Science in Yale College. 16nio, Cloth, GO cents. 
 
 There is no page of the book that is not weighty -with meaning. 
 The argument that runs through it is lilie a chain, strongly wehl- 
 etl, link on to link. * * * Prof. Sumner gives clear, pointcJd, and 
 powerful utterance to much social and political wisdom. The 
 teaching of the book is just of that sent which is most needed by 
 the young America of to-day. — Boston CommonweaWx. 
 
 The conclusions he reaches are substantially unanswerable. * * * 
 No more important doctrine than this cau well be proclaimed, and 
 our country owes a debt of gratitude to whoever will proclaim 
 it in the sturdy style of this book. Wo need not despair of the 
 Eepublic while our young meu are fed upon such meat as this. 
 Whether they adopt his conclusions or not, they cannot fail to bo 
 stimulated by his reasoning. — The Nation, N. Y. 
 
 Prof. Sunmer has selected a subject of great interest and impor- 
 tance, and has treated it with ingenuity, penetration, aud original- 
 ity, and in a plain, homely, puugentpaud efiective style. — Brookhja 
 Union. 
 
 His little book is full of excellent m.axims of conduct formed on 
 the manly principle of doing hard work and letting everybody 
 have a fair chance. * * * These eleven short chapters are undoubt- 
 edly the ablest of recent contributions to matters ou which much 
 unprofitable ink is spent. — N. Y. Times. 
 
 This volume contains a most instructive discussion of certain 
 economic questions which are of living interest touching upon the 
 duties of the State to classes or individuals embraced iu it. — Boston 
 Glohe. 
 
 The style is bright and racy, and the argument is allowed to lose 
 noue of its force by the use of technical terras. The book is sug- 
 gestive, and will be found helpful to those who desire to reach cor- 
 rect conclusions on subjects of practical importance. — Christian at 
 Work, N. Y. 
 
 Prof Sumner has enforced iu very few and very simple words 
 some of the most important aud most neglected principles of polit- 
 ical and social economy ; has exposed, with temperate but none the 
 less telling sarcasm, the most absurd but not least popular crotchets 
 of modern philanthropic enthusiasm. — Saturday Eeview, London. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 IBSS' Uarpeb & BnoTiiBRS will seiid the above icork by mail, postage prepaid, to any 
 part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price.
 
 HOME STUDIES liN NATURE, 
 
 By Mary Treat, Author of " Chapters on Ants," etc. Ilhis- 
 tratcd. pp. 244. 12ino, Ornamental Cloth, $1 50. 
 
 Mrs. Treat roams through the fields in search of rare knowledge about 
 birds, wasps, spiders, and those wonderful plants that entrap insects and 
 thrive on their juices. Her originality in these researches is undoubted, 
 and she adds a great deal to our stock of facts for use in the interpreta- 
 tion of nature. She has a pleasant style, and a winning knack of making 
 disagreeable things seem otherwise. The pictures are many and good. — 
 N. y. Journal of Commerce. 
 
 A worthy tribute from a lover of nature to the animated world about 
 her. It treats of birds, insects, plants that consume animals, and flo\yering 
 plants. It has nearly seventy handsome illustrations, and the story is told 
 in fascinating ami clearly-expressed language. It is an admirable work 
 with which to educate a family. — Boston Commo7iwcalth. 
 
 To those who have given attention to the beauties of nature as devel- 
 oped in the winged world and the insect and floral branches, this little 
 volume will be peculiarly grateful. — Albany Press. 
 
 Books on this subject are generally regarded by every one not profes- 
 sional scientists as dreadful bores. An exception must be made, however, 
 in favor of Mrs. Mary Treat's " Home Studies in Nature." The only 
 echoes of science between the two covers are the Latin names of birds, 
 insects, and plants ; all else are Jnost curious and readable accounts of 
 the doings of some creatures so tiny that they frequently are near us, and 
 watching us, when we imagine ourselves alone. * * * This would be a capi- 
 tal book to give a bright-eyed boy or girl who complains that about home 
 " there is nothing to look at." Adults, however will also enjoy the volume, 
 and may make their eyesight keener by reading it. — iV". Y. Herald. 
 
 The public should feel glad that occasionally a man or a woman finds 
 highest pleasure in studying the ways and habits of nature, and publishing 
 the result of such study to the world. This is wliat Mrs. Treat has done. 
 * * * Her book is divided into four parts— observations on birds, habits of 
 insects, plants that consume animals, and flowering plants. It is, moreover, 
 helped by nearly seventy illustrations, which in a work of this character 
 are of material assistance; for the great majority of readers are unfamil- 
 iar with the appearance of the birds, flowers, and insects, the habits of 
 which are described. The author shows herself to be a keen, consjien- 
 tious, and affectionate observer. — JV. Y. Telegram. 
 
 Mrs. Treat can always command a delightful audience ; for next to the 
 pleasure of searching fields, woods, and streams for the beautiful or curi- 
 ous, it is charming to hear from so close an observer so much that is in- 
 teresting and new, especially when all is told with vivacity and genuine 
 enthusiasm. * * * The volume is finely illustrated, and its contents cannot 
 fail to entertain the reader, young or old, who has learned, or is learning, 
 about the busy world out-of-doors. — Worcester Daily Spy. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 t^~ The above work sent by mail, postafie prepaid, to any part of the United States 
 or Canada, on receipt of the price.
 
 AJlEPiICAN POLITICAL IDEAS, 
 
 Viewed from the Standpoint of Universal History. By John 
 FiSKE. pp.158. 12mo, Clotli, $1 00. 
 
 Mr. Fiske is one of the few Americans who is able to exercise 
 a dispassionate judgment npon questions which have been the 
 cause of quarrels between parties and sections. Mr. Fiske has a 
 calm way of considering our modern ideas from the standpoint 
 of universal history. — N. Y. Journal of Commei-ce. 
 
 We know of no treatise concerning American history -^vhich is 
 likely to exercise larger or better influence in leading Americans to 
 read between the lines of our country's annals. * * * The little 
 book is so direct and simple in the manner of its presentation of 
 truth, so attractive in substance, that its circulation is likely to 
 be wide. Its appeal is as directly to the farmer or mechanic as 
 to the philosophic student of politics or history. — N. Y. Commercial 
 Advertiser. 
 
 TLere is not a line in the entire work -which is not laden with 
 the riidiest fruits of a trained and powerful intellect. — Commercial 
 BuUdiu, Boston. 
 
 When Mr. Fiske comes to discuss American history by the com- 
 parative method, he enters a field of special and vital interest to 
 all who have ever taken up this method of study. Our hi.^tory, as 
 tlie author says, when viewed in this broad and yet impartial way, 
 acquires a new dignity. There is no need to say that Mr. Fiske's 
 pages are worthy of the most careful study. — Brooldyn Vnion. 
 
 From tills point of view the consideration of the political ideas 
 of this country becomes something more than a mere study of 
 history; it constitutes a page of jdiilosophy, a social study of the 
 most transcendaut importance. Such is the spirit with which 
 Prof. Fiske handles his subject. He shows how our institutions 
 have grown and developed from the past, how they have a firm 
 basis in nature, and how they must develop in the future. Tlie 
 lectures are important reading; they are also pleasant reading, for 
 the literarj^ style of Prof. Fiske is exceptionally pure, clear, and 
 graceful. — Boston Gazette. 
 
 A volume of great interest, and illustrates very happily some of 
 the fundamental ideas of American politics by setting forth tlx'ir 
 relations to the general history of mankind. * * * We heartily 
 commend this little volume to such of our readers as desire to en- 
 large their ideas and views of the political principles underlying the 
 foundations of our system of government. — Christian at JVork,'K.Y. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 r3- riAKmi & BiioTHKRS icill fend the above ivork hij mail, postage prejiaid, to any 
 part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price.
 
 FLY-RODS AND FLY-TACKLE. 
 
 Suggestions as to their Manufacture and Use. By IIenrt 
 P. Wells. Illustrated, pp. 364. Post 8vo, Illumi- 
 nated Cloth, $2 50. 
 
 Ml'. Wells has devoted more time and attention to the materials used in 
 fl)'-fisliing tlian any person we know of, and liis experience is well set forth 
 in this most valuable book. * * * Tiie author is an amateur rod-maker who 
 has experimented with every wood known to rod manufacturers, as well as 
 with some that are not known to them, and therefore he is an undoubted 
 authority on the subject. This chapter and the one following, which gives 
 directions in rod-making, forms the most perfect ti-eatise on rods extant. 
 * * * The book is one of great value, and will take its place as a standard 
 authority on all points of which it treats, and we cannot commend it too 
 highly. — Forest und /Stream, N. Y. 
 
 Since Izaak Walton lingered over themes piscatorial, we have learned to 
 expect, in all essays on the gentle art of angling, a certain daintiness and 
 elegance of literary form as well as technical utility. Publisher and author 
 have co-operated to meet these traditional requirements in "Fly-Rods and 
 Fly-Tackle." * * * Mr. AVells's competence to expound the somewhat in- 
 tricate principles and delicate processes of fly-fishing will be plain to any 
 reader who himself has some practical actiuaiiitance with the art discussed. 
 The value of the author's instructions and suggestions is signally enhanced 
 by their minuteness and luci<iity. — JV. Y. Sun. 
 
 A complete manual for the amliitious lover of fishing for trout. * * * All 
 lovers of fly-fishing should have Mr. Wells's book in their outfit for the 
 sport that is near at hand. — PhUadeJplda Bulletin. 
 
 An illustrated volume, elegantly presented, that will make all anglers 
 jealous of possession until upon their shelf or centre-table. It is a book 
 of suggestion as to the manufacture and use of all kinds of fishing-appa- 
 ratus. — Boston Commonwealth. 
 
 Mr. Wells reveals to us the mysteries of lines, leaders, and reels, rods, 
 rod material, and rod-making, lie lets us into the secret of making re- 
 pairs, and gives all due directions for casting the fly. * * * Moreover, Mr. 
 Wells writes in an attractive style. There is a certain charm in the heart- 
 iness and grace wherewith he expresses his appreciation of those beauties 
 of nature which the angler has so unlimited an opportunity of enjoying. 
 Tiius what may be called not only a technical, Ijut also a scientific, knowl- 
 edge of his subject is combined with a keen delight in hill, stream, and for- 
 est for the sake of the varied loveliness they display. — N. Y. Ttlerjram. 
 
 A book of practical hints about the manufacture and use of anglers' 
 gear. Fish-hooks, lines, leaders, rods and rod-making, repairs, flies and 
 fly-fishing, are among the important subjects discussed with great fulness. 
 The essay on "Casting the Fly" and "Miscellaneous Suggestions" ai"e 
 rich in points for beginners. It is to the latter, and not to the experts, 
 that Mr. Wells modestly dedicates his work. His object is to supply pre- 
 cisely the kind of information of which he stood so much in need during 
 his own novitiate. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 The above work sent by mail, postafje prejjaid, to any part of the United States 
 or Canada, on receipt of the price.
 
 CHARLES NORDllOFF'S WORKS. 
 
 POLITICS FOR YOUXG AMERICANS. By Charles Nordhoff. ICmo, 
 Half Leather, 75 cents ; Paper, 40 cents. 
 
 CALIFORNIA : A Book for Travellers and Settlers. By Charles Nord- 
 hoff. A New Edition. With Maps and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, 
 $2 00. 
 
 Mr. Nordhoff's plfin is in see what is curious, important, and true, nnd then to 
 tell it in the simplest manner, llerodotns is evidently his prototype. Strong 
 sense, a Doric tnithfulnesa, and a very earnest contempt for anythinjr like pre- 
 tension or sensationalism, and an enthusiasm none the less agreeable because 
 straitened in its expression, are his qualities. — X. V. Evening Pust. 
 
 THE COMMUNISTIC SOCIETIES OF THE UNITED STATES; from 
 Personal Visit and Observation : including Detailed Accounts of the 
 Economists, Zoarites, Shakers ; the Amana, Oneida, Bethel, Aurora, 
 Icarian, and other Existing Societies; their Religious Creeds, Social 
 Practices, Numbers, Industries, and Present Condition. By Charles 
 NoRDUOFF. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $4 00. 
 
 Mr. Nordhoff has derived his materials from personal observation, havin?; vis- 
 ited the principal Communistic societies in the United States, and taken diligent 
 note of the peculiar features of their religious creed and practices, their social and 
 domestic customs, and their industrial and tinancial arranirements. * ' * With his 
 exceptionally keen jjowers of perception, and his habits of practised observation, 
 he could not engage in such an inquiry without amassing a fund of curious 
 information. In staling the results of his investigations, he writes with exem- 
 plary candor and inipartialitj', though not without the exercise of just and sound 
 discrimination. — A'. 1'. Tribune. 
 
 CAPE COD AND ALL ALONG SHORE : STORIES. By Charles Nord- 
 hoff. 12mo, Cloth, f 1 50; 4to, Paper, 15 cents. 
 
 Light, clever, well-writien sketches. — X. Y. Timen. 
 
 A lively and agreeable volume, full of humor and incident.— Boston Transcript. 
 
 GOD AND THE FUTURE LIFE. The Reasonableness of Christianity. 
 By Charles Nordhoff. ]6mo. Cloth, $1 00. 
 
 Mr. Nordhoff's object is not so much to present a religions system as to give 
 practical and sufficient reasons for every-day beliefs. He writes strongly, clearly, 
 and in the vein that the people understand. — Boston Herald. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 B3F" Harpek & Broturks xeill send the above works by mail, pontage prepaid, to any 
 part of the United Stites or Canada, on receipt nf the price.
 
 It surpasses all its predecessors. — N. Y. Tribunk. 
 
 A Dictionary of tlie English Language, Pronouncing, Etymological, 
 and Explanatory, Embracing Scientific and Other Terms, Numer- 
 ous Familiar Terms, and a Copious Selection of Old English 
 Words. By the Rev. James Stormontii. The Pronunciation 
 Carefully Revised by the Rev. P. H. Piielp, M.A. pp. 1348. 
 4to, Cloth, $6 00; Half Roan, $7 00; Sheep, $7 50. 
 
 Also in Harper's Franklin Square Library, in Twenty- 
 three Parts. 4to, Paper, 25 cents each Part. Muslin covers for 
 binding supplied by the publishers on receipt of 50 cents. 
 
 As rcRards thoroughness of etymological research and breadth of modern inclusion, 
 Stormonlh's new dictionary surpasses all its jiredecessors. * * * lu fact. Stormonth's 
 Dictionary possesses merits so many and conspicuous that it can hardly fail to estab- 
 lish itself as a standard and a favorite. —X 1'. Tribune. 
 
 This may servo in great measure the purposes of an English cyclopedia. It gives 
 lucid and succinct dclinitions of the technical terms in science and art, in law and 
 medicine. We have the explanation of words and phrases that puzzle most people, 
 showing wonderfully comprehensive and out oftlic-vvay research. We need only add 
 that the Dictionary appears in all its departments to have been brought down to meet 
 the latest demands of the day, and that it is admirably jirinted. — 7V?«ts, London. 
 
 A most valuable addition to the library of the scholar and of the general reader. 
 It can have for the present no jiossible twaX.—liofion I'ost. 
 
 It has the bones and sinews of the grand dictionary of the future. * * * An invalu- 
 able library hook.— KcdesiasUcal Gazelte, London. 
 
 A work which is certainly without a rival, all things considered, among the dic- 
 tionaries of our language. Tlie peculiarity of the work is that it is equally well adapt- 
 ed to the uses of the man of business, who demands compactness and ease of reference, 
 and to tho.se of the most exigent scholar. —A'. V. Commercial Advcrtisn: 
 
 As compared with our standard dictionaries, it is belter in type, richer in its vocab- 
 ulary, and happier in arrangement. Its system of grouping is admirable. * * * Ho 
 who possesses this dictionary will enjoy and use it, and its bulk is not so great as to 
 make use of it a terror. — Christian Advocate, N. Y. 
 
 A well planned and carefully executed work, which has decided merits of its own, 
 and for which there is a place not filled 1)V anv of its rivals.— A". Y. Sun. 
 
 A work of sterling value. It has received from all quarters the highest commenda- 
 tion. — Lutheran Observer. Philadelphia. 
 
 A trustworthy, truly scholarly dictionary of our English language.— CTm^ifflM Intel- 
 ligencer, N. Y. 
 
 The issue of Stormonth's great English dictionary is meeting with a hearty wel- 
 come cvervwhere. — Bnatnn Tranxcript. 
 
 A critical and accurate dictionary, the embodiment of good scholarship and the 
 result of modern researches. Compression and clearness are its external evidences, 
 and it offers a favorable comparison with the best dictionaries in use, while it holds an 
 unrivalled place in bringing forth the result of modern philological criticism.— iioi^on 
 Journal. . ,, ,, • 
 
 Full, complete, and accurate, including all the latest words, and giving all their 
 derivatives and correlatives. The definitions are short, but plain, the method of mak- 
 ing pronunciation very simple, and the arrangement such as to give the best results 
 in the smallest space. — Pkiladelphia Inquirer. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 jC®" HAitrER & Brothers will send the above work hy mail., postage prepaid, to any 
 part of the, United States or Canada, on receipt of theprixe.
 
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