a
single performance at the Opera. This would be, the newspaper stated,
a magnificent musical solemnity, for the tenor Montrose, who had
been absent six years from Paris, had just won, throughout Europe and
America, a success without precedent; moreover, he would be supported by
the illustrious Swedish singer, Helsson, who had not been heard in Paris
for five years.

Suddenly Olivier had an idea, which seemed to spring from the depths
of his heart--he would give Annette the pleasure of seeing this
performance. Then he remembered that the Countess's mourning might be an
obstacle to this scheme, and he sought some way to realize it in spite
of the difficulty. Only one method presented itself. He must take a
stage-box where one may be almost invisible, and if the Countess should
still not wish to go, he would have Annette accompanied by her father
and the Duchess. In that case, he would have to offer his box to the
Duchess. But then he would be obliged to invite the Marquis!

He hesitated and reflected a long time.

Certainly, the marriage was decided upon; no doubt the date was settled.
He guessed the reason for his friend's haste in having it finished soon;
he understood that in the shortest time possible she would give her
daughter to Farandal. He could not help it. He could neither prevent,
nor modify, nor delay this frightful thing. Since he must bear it,
would it not be better for him to try to master his soul, to hide his
suffering, to appear content, and no longer allow himself to be carried
away by his rage, as he had done?

Yes, he would invite the Marquis, and so allay the Countess's
suspicions, and keep for himself a friendly door in the new
establishment.

As soon as he had breakfasted, he went down to the Opera to engage one
of the boxes hidden by the curtain. It was promised to him. Then he
hastened to the Guilleroys'.

The Countess appeared almost immediately, apparently still a little
moved by their tender interview of the day before.

"How kind of you to come again to-day!" said she.

"I am bringing you something," he faltered.

"What is it?"

"A stage-box at the Opera for the single performance of Helsson and
Montrose."

"Oh, my friend, what a pity! And my mourning?"

"Your mourning has lasted for almost four months."

"I assure you that I cannot."

"And Annette? Remember that she may never have such an opportunity
again."

"With whom could she go?"

"With her father and the Duche