eye of Madame de Talmont discerned a state of things which, if suffered to continue, might possibly imperil "les convenances." She rose softly from her place and drew near, near enough to catch the low-breathed words, "My Clémence." After one sigh—into which all the memories of her own youth were gathered up—she laid her hand gently on the arm of Clémence. "My dear child," she said, "dost thou know that the little Fanchon is very ill? La Tante will never be content if she is not well cared for. Go and see."
Fanchon was only a favourite lap-dog, but Clémence lavished a good deal of tenderness that night on the little creature.
Three very happy weeks followed; then Ivan's marching orders came, and he set his face towards his own country, not without sorrow, but with the hope of a glad return at no distant day to claim the treasure left behind him.
