a strange impression on her mind that all the gold, millions, it was said to amount to, should be lying in that shed while the men for whom it was destined were being killed not far away.  As she was about to ascend the private staircase, however, that conducted to the apartment of Gilberte, young Madame Delaherche, she experienced another surprise in an encounter that startled her so that she retraced her steps a little way, doubtful whether it would not be better to abandon her intention, and go home again.  An officer, a captain, had crossed her path, as noiselessly as a phantom and vanishing as swiftly, and yet she had had time to recognize him, having seen him in the past at Gilberte’s house in Charleville, in the days when she was still Madame Maginot.  She stepped back a few steps in the courtyard and raised her eyes to the two tall windows of the bedroom, the blinds of which were closed, then dismissed her scruples and entered.

Upon reaching the first floor, availing herself of that privilege of old acquaintanceship by virtue of which one woman often drops in upon another for an unceremonious early morning chat, she was about to knock at the door of the dressing-room, but apparently someone had left the room hastily and failed to secure the door, so that it was standing ajar, and all she had to do was give it a push to find herself in the dressing room, whence she passed into the bedroom.  From the lofty ceiling of the latter apartment depended voluminous curtains of red velvet, protecting the large double bed.  The warm, moist air was fragrant with a faint perfume of Persian lilac, and there was no sound to break the silence save a gentle, regular respiration, scarcely audible.

“Gilberte!” said Henriette, very softly.

The young woman was sleeping peacefully, and the dim light that entered the room between the red curtains of the high windows displayed her exquisitely rounded head resting upon a naked arm and her profusion of beautiful hair straying in disorder over the pillow.  Her lips were parted in a smile.

“Gilberte!”

She slightly moved and stretched her arms, without opening her eyes.

“Yes, yes; good-by.  Oh! please—­” Then, raising her head and recognizing Henriette:  “What, is it you!  How late is it?”

When she learned that it had not yet struck six she seemed disconcerted, assuming a sportive air to hide her embarrassment, saying it was unfair to come waking people up at such an hour.  Then, to her friend, questioning her about her husband, she made answer: 

“Why, he has not returned; I don’t look for him much before nine o’clock.  What makes you so eager to see him at this hour of the morning?”

Henriette’s voice had a trace of sternness in it as she answered, seeing the other so smiling, so dull of comprehension in her happy waking.

“I tell you there has been fighting all the morning at Bazeilles, and I am anxious about my husband.”