his mother, kissing him. "Will you not—please—for me?"
For her sake he did not go; but wandered down side streets toward Madeline's home.
It was a summer morning as balmy as nature affords; the warm sun gently smote the new-born flowers, the growing foliage of the trees thickened the shadows that wavered on the grass, and the birds and bees went gaily about the season's business. Beside the cottage, in the garden, sat Monsieur Le Blanc, reading a newspaper; and Madame, who was somewhat recovered, went quietly about her household affairs. The house was gloomy within; it was no more the abode of enchantment and delight; but like a sea-beach in winter, cold, dark, and linked with memories. Joseph did not enter, but sat on a garden-seat near Monsieur.
"My lad, how are you?"
"Well, I thank you."
"Have you heard from Irène?"
"No."
"When do you think she will come back?"
"I do not think she will come back at
