"Madame la Vicomtess, there is a visitor in the drawing-room."

"Ah! yes, of course," she said, opening the door.

Eugene was beginning to feel very uncomfortable, but at last the
Vicomtesse appeared; she spoke to him, and the tremulous tones of her
voice vibrated through his heart.

"Pardon me, monsieur," she said; "I had a letter to write. Now I am
quite at liberty."

She scarcely knew what she was saying, for even as she spoke she
thought, "Ah! he means to marry Mlle. de Rochefide? But is he still
free? This evening the marriage shall be broken off, or else... But
before to-morrow I shall know."

"Cousin..." the student replied.

"Eh?" said the Countess, with an insolent glance that sent a cold
shudder through Eugene; he understood what that "Eh?" meant; he had
learned a great deal in three hours, and his wits were on the alert. He
reddened:

"Madame..." he began; he hesitated a moment, and then went on.
"Pardon me; I am in such need of protection that the nearest scrap of
relationship could do me no harm."

Mme. de Beauseant smiled but there was sadness in her smile; even now
she felt forebodings of the coming pain, the air she breathed was heavy
with the storm that was about to burst.

"If you knew how my family are situated," he went on, "you would love to
play the part of a beneficent fairy godmother who graciously clears the
obstacles from the path of her protege."

"Well, cousin," she said, laughing, "and how can I be of service to
you?"

"But do I know even that? I am distantly related to you, and this
obscure and remote relationship is even now a perfect godsend to me. You
have confused my ideas; I cannot remember the things that I meant to say
to you. I know no one else here in Paris.... Ah! if I could only ask you
to counsel me, ask you to look upon me as a poor child who would fain
cling to the hem of your dress, who would lay down his life for you."

"Would you kill a man for me?"

"Two," said Eugene.

"You, child. Yes, you are a child," she said, keeping back the tears
that came to her eyes; "you would love sincerely."

"Oh!" he cried, flinging up his head.

The audacity of the student's answer interested the Vicomtesse in him.
The southern brain was beginning to scheme for the first time. Between
Mme. de Restaud's blue boudoir and Mme. de Beauseant's rose-colored
drawing-room he had made a three years' advance in a kind of law which
is not a recognized study in Paris, although it