Mauprat
diately after dinner. Her father followed her with evident anxiety.
"Have you not noticed," said the abbé, turning to M. de la Marche, as soon as they had left the room, "that Mademoiselle de Mauprat has very much changed of late?"
"She has grown thinner," answered the lieutenant-general; "but in my opinion she is only the more beautiful for that."
"Yes; but I fear she may be more seriously ill than she owns," replied the abbé. "Her temperament seems no less changed than her face; she has grown quite sad."
"Sad? Why, I don't think I ever saw her so gay as she was this morning; don't you agree with me, Monsieur Bernard? It was only after our walk that she complained of a slight headache."
"I assure you that she is really sad," rejoined the abbé. "Nowadays, when she is gay, her gaiety is excessive; at such a time there seems to be something strange and forced about her which is quite foreign to her usual manner. Then the next minute she relapses into a state of melancholy, which I never noticed before the famous night in the forest. You may be certain that that night was a terrible experience."
"True, she was obliged to witness a frightful scene at Gazeau Tower," said M. de la Marche; "and then she must have been very much exhausted and frightened when her horse bolted from the rest of the field and galloped right through the forest. Yet her pluck is so remarkable that . . . What do you think, my dear Monsieur Bernard? When you met her in the forest, did she seem very frightened?"
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