be so dull. Your evenings especially must seem endless. How do you manage to fill them?"
They had returned to the Logis. A good fire warmed the boudoir in which Gilberte liked best to sit. The lamp was lighted. There was some music on the piano. The table was heaped with books and papers.
"You see, madame, I play and read: I read a great deal."
"Novels, I expect!" said the visitor, with a titter. "May I look? ... What have we here? An atlas ... manuals of history ... and literature ... selected essays ... memoirs! Are you superintending somebody's education?"
"My own," said Gilberte, laughing. "It has been a little neglected; and, as I have plenty of time ..."
"But many of the books are in English ... in German even ..."
"I know English and German."
"Quite a learned person! But how well
