Benoist　replied：　〃Indeed　I　will；　certainly；　indeed　I　will。〃
  ALL　OVER
  Compte　de　Lormerin　had　just　finished　dressing。　　He　cast　a　parting　glance
  at　the　large　mirror　which　occupied　an　entire　panel　in　his　dressing…room
  and　smiled。
  He　was　really　a　fine…looking　man　still；　although　quite　gray。　　Tall；
  slight；　elegant；　with　no　sign　of　a　paunch；　with　a　small　mustache　of
  doubtful　shade；　which　might　be　called　fair；　he　had　a　walk；　a　nobility；　a
  〃chic；〃　in　short；　that　indescribable　something　which　establishes　a
  greater　difference　between　two　men　than　would　millions　of　money。　　He
  murmured：
  〃Lormerin　is　still　alive！〃
  And　he　went　into　the　drawing…room　where　his　correspondence　awaited　him。
  On　his　table；　where　everything　had　its　place；　the　work　table　of　the
  gentleman　who　never　works；　there　were　a　dozen　letters　lying　beside　three
  newspapers　of　different　opinions。　　With　a　single　touch　he　spread　out　all
  these　letters；　like　a　gambler　giving　the　choice　of　a　card；　and　he　scanned
  the　handwriting；　a　thing　he　did　each　morning　before　opening　the
  envelopes。
  It　was　for　him　a　moment　of　delightful　expectancy；　of　inquiry　and　vague
  anxiety。　　What　did　these　sealed　mysterious　letters　bring　him？　　What　did
  they　contain　of　pleasure；　of　happiness；　or　of　grief？　　He　surveyed　them
  with　a　rapid　sweep　of　the　eye；　recognizing　the　writing；　selecting　them；
  making　two　or　three　lots；　according　to　what　he　expected　from　them。　　Here；
  friends；　there；　persons　to　whom　he　was　indifferent；　further　on；
  strangers。　　The　last　kind　always　gave　him　a　little　uneasiness。　　What　did
  they　want　from　him？　　What　hand　had　traced　those　curious　characters　full
  of　thoughts；　promises；　or　threats？
  This　day　one　letter　in　particular　caught　his　eye。　　It　was　simple；
  nevertheless；　without　seeming　to　reveal　anything；　but　he　looked　at　it
  uneasily；　with　a　sort　of　chill　at　his　heart。　　He　thought：　〃From　whom　can
  it　be？　　I　certainly　know　this　writing；　and　yet　I　can't　identify　it。〃
  He　raised　it　to　a　level　with　his　face；　holding　it　delicately　between　two
  fingers；　striving　to　read　through　the　envelope；　without　making　up　his
  mind　to　open　it。
  Then　he　smelled　it；　and　snatched　up　from　the　table　a　little　magnifying
  glass　which　he　used　in　studying　all　the　niceties　of　handwriting。　　He
  suddenly　felt　unnerved。　　〃Whom　is　it　from？　　This　hand　is　familiar　to　me；
  very　familiar。　　I　must　have　often　read　its　tracings；　yes；　very　often。
  But　this　must　have　been　a　long；　long　time　ago。　　Whom　the　deuce　can　it　be
  from？　　Pooh！　　it's　only　somebody　asking　for　money。〃
  And　he　tore　open　the　letter。　　Then　he　read：
  MY　DEAR　FRIEND：　You　have；　without　doubt；　forgotten　me；　for　it　is　now
  twenty…five　years　since　we　saw　each　other。　　I　was　young；　I　am　old。
  When　I　bade　you　farewell；　I　left　Paris　in　order　to　follow　into　the
  provinces　my　husband；　my　old　husband；　whom　you　used　to　call　〃my
  hospital。〃　　Do　you　remember　him？　　He　died　five　years　ago；　and　now　I
  am　returning　to　Paris　to　get　my　daughter　married；　for　I　have　a
  daughter；　a　beautiful　girl　of　eighteen；　whom　you　have　never　seen。
  I　informed　you　of　her　birth；　but　you　certainly　did　not　pay　much
  attention　to　so　trifling　an　event。
  You　are　still　the　handsome　Lormerin；　so　I　have　been　told。　　Well；　if
  you　still　recollect　little　Lise；　whom　you　used　to　call　Lison；　come
  and　dine　with　her　this　evening；　with　the　elderly　Baronne　de　Vance
  your　ever　faithful　friend；　who；　with　some　emotion；　although　happy；
  reaches　out　to　you　a　devoted　hand；　which　you　must　c1asp；　but　no
  longer　kiss；　my　poor　Jaquelet。
  LISE　DE　VANCE。
  Lormerin's　heart　began　to　throb。　　He　remained　sunk　in　his　armchair　with
  the　letter　on　his　knees；　staring　straight　before　him；　overcome　by　a
  poignant　emotion　that　made　the　tears　mount　up　to　his　eyes！
  If　he　had　ever　loved　a　woman　in　his　life　it　was　this　one；　little　Lise；
  Lise　de　Vance；　whom　he　called　〃Ashflower；〃　on　account　of　the　strange
  color　of　her　hair　and　the　pale　gray　of　her　eyes。　　Oh！　　what　a　dainty；
  pretty；　charming　creature　she　was；　this　frail　baronne；　the　wife　of　that
  gouty；　pimply　baron；　who　had　abruptly　carried　her　off　to　the　provinces；
  shut　her　up；　kept　her　in　seclusion　through　jealousy；　jealousy　of　the
  handsome　Lormerin。
  Yes；　he　had　loved　her；　and　he　believed　that　he　too；　had　been　truly　loved。
  She　familiarly　gave　him；　the　name　of　Jaquelet；　and　would　pronounce　that
  word　in　a　delicious　fashion。
  A　thousand　forgotten　memories　came　back　to　him；　far；　off　and　sweet　and
  melancholy　now。　　One　evening　she　had　called　on　him　on　her　way　home　from　a
  ball；　and　they　went　for　a　stroll　in　the　Bois　de　Boulogne；　she　in　evening
  dress；　he　in　his　dressing…jacket。　　It　was　springtime；　the　weather　was
  beautiful。　　The　fragrance　from　her　bodice　embalmed　the　warm　air…the　odor
  of　her　bodice；　and　perhaps；　too；　the　fragrance　of　her　skin。　　What　a
  divine　night！　　When　they　reached　the　lake；　as　the　moon's　rays　fell　across
  the　branches　into　the　water；　she　began　to　weep。　　A　little　surprised；　he
  asked　her　why。
  〃I　don't　know。　　The　moon　and　the　water　have　affected　me。　　Every　time　I
  see　poetic　things　I　have　a　tightening　at　the　heart；　and　I　have　to　cry。〃
  He　smiled；　affected　himself；　considering　her　feminine　emotion　charming
  the　unaffected　emotion　of　a　poor　little　woman；　whom　every　sensation
  overwhelms。　　And　he　embraced　her　passionately；　stammering：
  〃My　little　Lise；　you　are　exquisite。〃
  What　a　charming　love　affair；　short…lived　and　dainty；　it　had　been　and　over
  all　too　quickly；　cut　short　in　the　midst　of　its　ardor　by　this　old　brute　of
  a　baron；　who　had　carried　off　his　wife；　and　never　let　any　one　see　her
  afterward。
  Lormerin　had　forgotten；　in　fact；　at　the　end　of　two　or　three　months。　　One
  woman　drives　out　another　so　quickly　in　Paris；　when　one　is　a　bachelor！　　No
  matter；　he　had　kept　a　little　altar　for　her　in　his　heart；　for　he　had　loved
  her　alone！　　He　assured　himself　now　that　this　was　so。
  He　rose；　and　said　aloud　：　〃Certainly；　I　will　go　and　dine　with　her　this
  evening！〃
  And　instinctively　he　turned　toward　the　mirror　to　inspect　himself　from
  head　to　foot。　　He　reflected：　〃She　must　look　very　old；　older　than　I　look。〃
  And　he　felt　gratified　at　the　thought　of　showing　himself　to　her　still
  handsome；　still　fresh；　of　astonishing　her；　perhaps　of　filling　her　with
  emotion；　and　making　her　regret　those　bygone　days　so　far；　far　distant！
  He　turned　his　attention　to　the　other　letters。　　They　were　of　no
  importance。
  The　whole　day　he　kept　thinking　of　this　ghost　of　other　days。　　What　was　she
  like　now？　　How　strange　it　was　to　meet　in　this　way　after　twenty…five
  years！　　But　would　he　recognize　her？
  He　made　his　toilet　with　feminine　coquetry；　put　on　a　white　waistcoat；
  which　suited　him　better　with　the　coat　than　a　black　one；　sent　for　the
  hairdresser　to　give　him　a　finishing　touch　With　the　curling　iron；　for　he
  had　preserved　his　hair；　and　started　very　early　in　order　to　show　his
  eagerness　to　see　her。
  The　first　thing　he　saw　on　entering　a　pretty　drawing…room　newly　furnished
  was　his　own　portrait；　an　old　faded　photograph；　dating　from　the　days　when
  he　was　a　beau；　hanging　on　the　wall　in　an　antique　silk　frame。
  He　sat　down　and　waited。　　A　door　opened　behind　him。　　He　rose　up　abruptly；
  and；　turning　round；　beheld　an　old　woman　with　white　hair　who　extended　both
  hands　toward　him。
  He　seized　them；　kissed　them　one　after　the　other　several　times；　then；
  lifting　up　his　head；　he　gazed　at　the　woman　he　had　loved。
  Yes；　it　was　an　old　lady；　an　old　lady　whom　he　did　not　recognize；　and　who；
  while　she　smiled；　seemed　ready　to　weep。
  He　could　not　abstain　from　murmuring：
  〃Is　it　you；　Lise？〃
  She　replied：
  〃Yes；　it　is　I；　it　is　I；　indeed。　　You　would　not　have　known　me；　would　you？
  I　have　had　so　much　sorrowso　much　sorrow。　　Sorrow　has　consumed　my　life。
  Look　at　me　nowor；　rather；　don't　look　at　me！　　But　how　handsome　you　have
  keptand　young！　　If　I　had　by　chance　met　you　in　the　street　I　would　have
  exclaimed：　'Jaquelet！'。　　Now；　sit　down　and　let　us；　first　of　all；　have　a
  chat。　　And　then　I　will　call　my　daughter；　my　grown…up　daughter。　　You'll
  see　how　she　resembles　meor；　rather；　how　I　resembled　herno；　it　is　not
  quite　that；　she　is　just　like　the　'me'　of　former　daysyou　shall　see！　　But
  I　wanted　to　be　alone　with　you　first。　　I　feared　that　there　would　be　some
  emotion　on　my　side；　at　the　first　moment。　　Now　it　is　all　over；　it　is　past。
  Pray　be　seated；　my　friend。〃
  He　sat　down　beside　her；　holding　her　hand；　but　he　did　not　know　what　to
  say；　he　did　not　know　this　womanit　seemed　to　him　that　he　had　never　seen
  her　before。　　Why　had　he　come　to　this　house？　　What　could　he　talk　about？
  Of　the　long　ago？　　What　was　there　in　common　between　him　and　her？　　He　could
  no　longer　recall　anything　in　presence　of　this　grandmotherly　face。　　He
  could　no　longer　recall　all　the　nice；　tender　things；　so　sweet；　so　bitter；
  that　had　come　to　his　mind　that　morning　when　he　thought　of　the　other；　of
  little　Lise；　of　the　dainty　Ashflower。　　What；　then；　had　become　of　her；　the
  former　one；　the　one　he　had　loved？　　That　woman　of　far…off　dreams；　the
  blonde　with　gray　eyes；　the　young　girl　who　used　to　call　him　〃Jaquelet〃　so
  prettily？
  They　remained　side　by　side；　motionless；　both　constrained；　troubled；