torrents when I was about leaving and she insisted upon my staying all night; now she wishes me to remain for her birthday, which is on the 5th; she continues to watch me closely.  Mad.  Taverneau has been questioned—­the mute, Blanchard, has been tortured ...  Mad.  Taverneau replied that she had known me for three years and that during this time I had never ceased to mourn for the late Albert Guerin; in her zeal she added that he was a very deserving young man!  My good Blanchard contented herself with saying that I was worth more than Mad. de Meilhan and all of her family put together.  While they study me I study them.  There is no danger in my remaining at Richeport.  Edgar respects his mother—­she watches over me.  If necessary, I will tell her everything....  She speaks kindly of Mlle. de Chateaudun—­she defends me....  How I laughed to myself this morning!  I heard that M. de Monbert had secretly applied to the police to discover my whereabouts and the police sent him to join me at Burgundy!...  What could have made any one think I was there?  At whose house will he go to seek me? and whom will he find instead of me?  However, I may be there before long if my cousin will travel by way of Macon.  She will not be ready to start before next week.

Oh!  I am so anxious to see you again!  Do not go to Geneva without me.

IRENE DE CHATEAUDUN.

XVIII.

ROGER DE MONBERT to MONSIEUR EDGAR DE MEILHAN,
Pont de l’Arche (Eure).

PARIS, July 2d 18—.

Do you believe, my dear Edgar, that it is easy to live when the age of love is passed?  Verily one must be able to love his whole lifetime if he wishes to live an enchanted life, and die a painless death.  What a seductive game! what unexpected luck!  How many moments delightfully employed!  Each day has its particular history; at night we delight in telling it over to ourselves, and indulge in the wildest conjectures as to what will be the events of each to-morrow.  The reality of to-day defeats the anticipations of yesterday.  We hope one moment and despair the next—­now dejected, now elated.  We alternate between death and blissful life.

The other morning at nine o’clock we stopped at the stage-office at Sens for ten minutes.  I went into the hotel and questioned everybody, and found they had seen many young ladies of the age, figure and beauty of Mlle. de Chateaudun.

Happy people they must be!

However, I only asked all these questions to amuse myself during the ten minutes’ relay.  My mind was at rest—­for the police are infallible; everything will be explained at the Chateau de Lorgeville.  I stopped my carriage some yards from the gate, got out and walked up the long avenue, being concealed by the large trees through which I caught glimpses of the chateau.

It was a large symmetrical building—­a stone quadrangle, heavily topped off by a dark slate roof, and a dejected-looking weathercock that rebelled against the wind and declined to move.