And, as I know perfectly well, that no one can do anything to remedy that except yourself, you will not even discuss with me how we can save ourselves from this awful crisis?" The old lady shrugged her shoulders, and replied: "That is just why we are here. I think we are getting nearer home, but I cannot find the gate. Have you found it?" "No," said Harry. "And I can only see a faint light ahead." "We must be very near the house. But I don't know in what direction it lies. All I know is, that it is at least a league off." "Then, if we were following the shore, we should go astray?" "No, I think not." "Very well; so much the better." Harry went on in front and found a place on the coast that was better defined. But how much more easy to lose one's way in this world, when that was all one knew. He had turned once more toward Mme. d'Aiglemont, when the thought flashed through his mind: "Why am I stopping here? What am I staying to talk to her about? It is useless!" It was useless. Then, not in his own thoughts but in hers, he read a very different question: "What am I doing here? What am I wasting my time for? She can do nothing! She can do nothing! Why am I wasting my time to talk with her?" He left her and joined his mother. BOOK FOUR CHAPTER XXXI MADAME DE SALLUS was about to say, "You are talking nonsense, my dear," when her heart was taken by storm, and a great joy swept through her. She saw a light on the water; she saw it flash from one end of the avenue to the other. It was like a sudden revelation, and with a start she cried out: "You are a poet, you see! You are talking of 'the mysterious light on the Garonne.' The whole thing came in a flash. I saw it at once! Yes, I was right; they are here! And there is Madame de Marelle." She gave a shriek of joy. What happiness it was to wake up when all one's old friends are in one's life at once! There was not only the light on the water: there was the light in her soul. All was changed. Oh, to be with them, to be alone with them! In her imagination she heard George say: "Do you like it?" "Oh, I do! I do! It is the most delicious thing!" The whole day was before them, and she pictured the joy of the walk, the great pleasure of finding them waiting at the end of their voyage. She was just saying: "I should think you would prefer your own home, your friends, Madame de Marelle, your children. How do you mean to arrange it? I suppose you must live with my son." when she heard Mme. Vichet say: "I am so glad we are here! This is my only son, too; and I cannot help saying that if they do not take me along, my son will be very unhappy without me." Madame de Sallus was delighted. Yes, her son was happy. He could not be unhappy without her; he should not be! To be sure, he ought to stay where he was; but he would not. Oh, how right she was! He must leave his home and come and live with them! How she loved them all! To come and sit down in the room where he was when he was little, and see that tall cabinet, that wonderful cupboard, with its two deep doors! And where was the little room, then? At the bottom, of course. Yes, of course; it was there he went for the pictures he was so proud of. Oh, how dear they were! What memories they brought back! She loved them all. She looked up and saw Mme. de Marelle standing before them. But what a strange look she wore! Why did she stare at her as if she did not know her? She gazed at her for some time; she looked at all the pictures; then she walked away, and her face was more troubled than ever. What was the matter with her? What had happened? Was it possible that she did not recognise her old friend? But how could that be? They were together constantly, and it was the only time they had met since she came to Paris, except when he had gone to England. She was afraid of meeting a face she did not know. When the commissioners entered the country, they brought with them a large number of Parisians, among whom were many Paris women whom she did not know. Mme. de Marelle's face was less troubled than when she left the gallery. When she reached the staircase, she threw a rapid glance into the salon; the light shone so brightly that she could see that it was furnished differently. She made her way to her room and closed her eyes. But she saw the pictures still, and her mind seemed to say, "Can you see those pictures?" She came out again to the salon; she looked into the salon and saw it all lit up, as if by electricity, while the music was sounding through the building. She gazed about her. There was nothing she recognised; nothing that she had ever seen or touched before. Everything was different. She opened her eyes again and tried to find the place where she had seen the little house. But no; there was no such place. She was frightened by what she saw; she was so afraid! All those pictures had seemed so large when he brought them home from La Baudraye. How they had shone! But there were no pictures. She looked about her, and thought to herself, "I am here." And it seemed to her that she had a feeling of surprise, of bewilderment. She walked to the cabinet; she touched it, and thought, "I am not in my own house." She went up to it again, and felt it, and tried to shake it; but it was like a chimney; it would not move. Then it was true. She was lost. She, who so far had not thought at all about it, suddenly found herself in a strange place. She leaned on the table as if she were going to faint, and looked at herself in the long glass. She had never known what it was to be unhappy before, but now she was suffering the greatest unhappiness that can be conceived. She hurried away and ran into the small drawing-room, which she had never seen before. What did that look mean? Where was the cabinet? She went into the dining-room and into her bedroom; she found that all was just the same, but she was not at home, she did not know what she wanted. She went down into the garden and saw George talking to some one at the end of the avenue; they were coming toward the house. Yes, they must be on their way to call on her; she would run and meet them; it would be dreadful to see them standing before her without knowing how to welcome them. She hurried on to the avenue, and called to the others: "Here we are! Come in; here we are! How glad I am to see you!" She called again; the two persons with George moved on a little; but it was to make room for them to pass, not to reply. "How is my aunt?" asked Harry, almost too confused to talk. "So happy to have you here," he added. "Thank you," said Mme. de Sallus. "I am sorry I cannot tell you the same thing, but I did not even see my nephew; I could only see you." She looked at him, and tried to find him in his father's face. He was taller, she thought; but he was not a man. What did it all mean? "Can it be possible that you have forgotten all I have taught you?" said Mme. de Marelle. "Can it be that you have so little respect for a lady's name?" "But my aunt does not understand----" "Your aunt? you say. My nephew's aunt? And this woman was your aunt? Ah, how wicked you are!" cried the poor woman; and she put her finger to her lips. She felt sure that he was wicked; she had felt it since he returned; but she did not understand; it was all so sad. Harry looked at his aunt, and thought, "If she had stayed in Paris, she would not be here to-day." It was a dreadful thought, but it was not an illogical one. He stood listening, with downcast eyes, and, while he