noticed it, his wife scarcely more than the rest.
Madame de Piennes, having finished her toilet in five minutes, left her chamber in some agitation, for the arrival of Max de Salligny recalled to her the recent death of the friend whom she had loved the best in the world; it was, I believe, the sole recollection which presented itself to her memory, and vivid enough to arrest any embarrassing conjectures that a person in a less serious frame of mind would have formed over the crumpled cap of Mademoiselle Josephine. Upon nearing the drawing-room she was a little shocked to hear a fine bass voice, gaily singing to its own accompaniment upon the piano this Neapolitan barcarolle:
Addio, Teresa,
Teresa, addio!
Al mio ritorno,
Ti sposero.
She opened the door and interrupted the singer by extending to him her hand:
"My poor Max, how glad I am to see you again!"
Max hurriedly arose and shook her hand, regarding her wildly, without finding a single word to say.
"I was so sorry," continued Madame de
