before Noirtier as before God, and before Valentine as an angel, "what have I ever done in my life to merit such unbounded happiness?"
"Until that time," continued the young girl, in a calm and self-possessed tone of voice, "we will respect the usages of society, and ever the wishes of our relatives, so long as those wishes do not tend finally to separate us; in one word, and I repeat it, because it expresses every thing―we will wait."
"And I swear to make all the sacrifices which this word imposes, sir," said Morrel, "not only with resignation, but with cheerfulness."
"Therefore," continued Valentine, looking playfully at Maximilian, "no more imprudence; do not compromise her who from this day regards herself as destined, honorably and happily, to bear your name?"
Morrel looked obedience to her commands. Noirtier regarded the lovers with a look of ineffable tenderness, whilst Barrois, who had remained in the room in the character of a man privileged to know everything that passed, smiled on the youthful couple as he wiped the perspiration from his bald forehead.
"How hot you look, my good Barrois!" said Valentine.
"Ah! I have been running very fast, mademoiselle; but I must do M. Morrel the justice to say that he ran still faster."
Noirtier directed their attention to a waiter, on which was placed a decanter containing lemonade and a glass. The decanter was nearly full, with the exception of a little, which had been already drunk by M. Noirtier.
"Come, Barrois," said the young girl, "take some of this lemonade; I see you are coveting a good draught of it."
"The fact is mademoiselle," said Barrois, "I am dying with thirst, and since you are so kind as to offer it me, I cannot say I should at all object to drinking your health in a glass of it."
"Take some, then, and come back immediately."
Barrois took away the waiter, and hardly was he outside the door, which, in his haste, he forgot to shut, then they saw him throw back his head and empty to the very dregs the glass which Valentine had filled. Valentine and Morrel were exchanging their adieux in the presence of Noirtier when a ring was heard at the door-bell. It was the signal of a visit. Valentine looked at her watch.
"It is past noon," said she, "and to-day is Saturday; I dare say it is the doctor, grandpapa."
Noirtier looked his conviction that she was right in her supposition.
"He will come in here, and M. Morrel had better go; do you think so, grandpapa?"
"Yes," signed the old man.
"Barrois!" cried Valentine, "Barrois!"
