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' -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, wiee'8 New AND Rkvisei) Catalogue, which will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any ad- dress in the United states, on receipt of Ten cents. BAKER'S (Rev. W. M.) Carter Quarterman. Illustrated Svo, Paper $ 60 Inside: a Clironicle of Secession. Illustrated Svo.Paper 75 The New Timothy 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; 4to, Paper 25 The Virf^inians in Texas Svo, Paper 15 BENEDICT'S (F. L.) 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