n
the bass without being disturbed by the unmusical sounds.

"Do not play discords," said Clemence, laughing; "let us at least put
her to sleep in tune."

She was wrong to say us; for her lover took this as complicity for
whatever might happen. Us, in a tete-a-tete, is the most traitorous word
in the whole language.

It may be that Clemence had no great desire that her aunt should awaken;
perhaps she wished to avoid a conversation; perhaps she wished to enjoy
in silence the happiness of feeling that she was still loved, for since
he had seated himself beside her Octave's slightest action had become
a renewed avowal. Madame de Bergenheim began to play the Duke
of Reichstadt's Waltz, striking only the first measure of the
accompaniment, in order to show her lover where to put his fingers.

The waltz went on. Clemence played the air and Octave the bass, two of
their hands remaining unoccupied--those that were close to each other.
Now, what could two idle hands do, when one belonged to a man deeply in
love, the other to a young woman who for some time had ill-treated her
lover and exhausted her severity? Before the end of the first part, the
long unoccupied, tapering fingers of the treble were imprisoned by those
of the bass, without the least disturbance in the musical effect--and
the old aunt slept on!

A moment later, Octave's lips were fastened upon this rather trembling
hand, as if he wished to imbibe, to the very depths of his soul, the
soft, perfumed tissue. Twice the Baroness tried to disengage herself,
twice her strength failed her. It was beginning to be time for the
aunt to awaken, but she slept more soundly than ever; and if a slight
indecision was to be noticed in the upper hand, the lower notes
were struck with an energy capable of metamorphosing Mademoiselle de
Corandeuil into a second Sleeping Beauty.

When Octave had softly caressed this hand for a long time, he raised his
head in order to obtain a new favor. This time Madame de Bergenheim did
not turn away her eyes, but, after looking at Octave for an instant, she
said to him in a coquettish, seductive way:

"Aline?"

The mute glance which replied to this question was such an eloquent
denial that all words were superfluous. His sweet, knowing smile
betrayed the secret of his duplicity; he was understood and forgiven.
There was at this moment no longer any doubt, fear, or struggle between
them. They did not feel the necessity of any explanation as