"Oh! how long it seems since I have seen you," she kept repeating.
She held her father's hand and pressed it against her heart. It seemed to her suddenly as if she had suffered from that absence of three days, and yet she could not specify at what moment she had wished herself back with them. She recounted all the little events that had taken place during the three eventful days.
"You know," she explained to her father, "I am bringing you all the newspaper articles. Then I have the letter from the President of the Committee, and the beautiful presents from the King and Queen."
The carriage stopped at the Boulevard Raspail. The _concierge_ came forward.
"I am sure I hope that Mademoiselle has had a success."
Esperance looked at her with astonishment, but the woman's husband came up with a newspaper in his hand, which he unfolded to display the picture of Esperance just beneath the headlines.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "they will make me odious to the public. Mounet-Sully was so wonderful. Worms so fine in his monologue...."
She was still sad when she entered her own room. She touched all the familiar little objects, and kissed the feet of the ivory Virgin upon her mantel-piece with great emotion. She thanked her mother with a look when she saw the fresh marguerites in the two enamel vases. In comparison with the luxury of her apartment at the Grand Hotel in Brussels, the simple surroundings of her own room charmed her anew. She swayed for a moment in her rocking-chair, sat down on her low stool, knelt upon her bed to straighten the branch of box beneath the silver crucifix her mother had given her when she was seventeen.
Marguerite came in with the trunk and luggage.
"What is that?" asked Esperance, spying a big box fastened with nails.
"I don't know anything about it, Mademoiselle. They gave it to me at the hotel saying it was for you."
The box on being opened displayed a magnificent basket of orchids. Attached by a white ribbon was a card--"Countess Styvens."
Esperance grew pale; she took the card from her mother's hands, fearing that she might be mistaken. It was indeed the Countess and not the Count. She breathed again! Marguerite and the maid carried the basket into the salon; then the young girl went into the library with her mother. The newspaper clippings were spread out on the table, and the two famous trinkets had been taken from their cases. Madame Darbois clasped and unclasped her hands.