cended from her dressing-room,
and, finding herself alone in the greenroom, was putting a final touch
to her coiffure before the mirror when the General entered.

He kissed her hand gallantly, and both seated themselves in a retired
corner between the fireplace and the window.

"I thank you for coming so early," said Eugenie. "I wished very much
to see you to-night, in order to draw from your eyes a little of your
courage before I must face the footlights in a role so difficult and so
superb."

"The fire of the footlights is not that of the enemy--above all, for
you, who are so sure of winning the battle."

"Alas! does one ever know? Although at the last rehearsal Monsieur
Legouve assured me that all was perfect, look up there at that portrait
of Rachel, and judge for yourself whether I have not reason to tremble
at my audacity in attempting this role after such a predecessor."

"But you yourself caused this play to be revived," said Henri.

"I did it because of you," Eugenie replied.

"Of me?"

"Yes. Am I not your Adrienne, and is not Maurice de Saxe as intrepid as
you, and as prodigal as you have been? Was he not dispossessed of his
duchy of Courlande, as you were of your--"

A gesture from Henri prevented her from finishing the sentence.

"Pardon me!" said she. "I had forgotten how painful to you is any
reference to that matter. We will speak only of your present renown, and
of the current of mutual sympathy that attracts each of us toward the
other. For myself, that attraction began on the fourteenth of last July.
You had just arrived at Paris, and a morning journal, in mentioning
the troops, and the names of the generals who appeared at the review,
related, apropos of your military exploits, many exciting details of
your escape during the war. Do you recall the applause that greeted you
when you marched past the tribunes? I saw you then for the first time,
but I should have known you among a thousand! The next day--"

"The next day," Henri interrupted, "it was my turn to applaud you. I had
been deprived a long time of the pleasures of the theatre, of which I
am very fond, and I began by going to the Comedie Francaise, where
you played, that night, the role of Helene in 'Mademoiselle de la
Seigliere.' Do you remember?"

"Do I remember! I recognized you instantly, sitting in the third row in
the orchestra."

"I had never seen you until then," Henri continued, "but that
sympathetic current was soon est