Many an evening she'll go to her bed tired and unsuccessful.

And the directress would not let her in to bid me good-bye?
I might not have the chance of standing with her for a few minutes at a window in the schoolroom and exchanging some half-dozen of sentences--getting to know where she lived--putting matters in train for having all things arranged to my mind?
No address on the note"-- I continued, drawing it again from the pocket-book and examining it on each side of the two leaves: "women are women, that is certain, and always do business like women; men mechanically put a date and address to their communications.

And these five-franc pieces ?"--( I hauled them forth from my purse)--"if she had offered me them herself instead of tying them up with a thread of green silk in a kind of Lilliputian packet, I could have thrust them back into her little hand, and shut up the small, taper fingers over them--so--and compelled her shame, her pride, her shyness, all to yield to a little bit of determined Will--now where is she?
How can I get at her ?" Opening my chamber door I walked down into the kitchen.
"Who brought the packet ?" I asked of the servant who had delivered it to me.
"Un petit commissionaire, monsieur." "Did he say anything ?" "Rien." And I wended my way up the back-stairs, wondrously the wiser for my inquiries.
"No matter," said I to myself, as I again closed the door.

"No matter--I'll seek her through Brussels." And I did.

I sought her day by day whenever I had a moment's leisure, for four weeks; I sought her on Sundays all day long; I sought her on the Boulevards, in the Allee Verte, in the Park; I sought her in Ste.
Gudule and St.Jacques; I sought her in the two Protestant chapels; I attended these latter at the German, French, and English services, not doubting that I should meet her at one of them.