s genius. In spite of what Camille had told him of the musician's
character, he now believed in the beauty of the soul, in the heart that
expressed such love. How could he, Calyste, rival such as an artist?
What woman could ever cease to adore such genius? That voice entered the
soul like another soul. The poor lad was overwhelmed by poesy, and his
own despair. He felt himself of no account. This ingenuous admission of
his nothingness could be read upon his face mingled with his admiration.
He did not observe the gesture with which Beatrix, attracted to Calyste
by the contagion of a true feeling, called Felicite's attention to him.

"Oh! the adorable heart!" cried Camille. "Conti, you will never obtain
applause of one-half the value of that child's homage. Let us sing this
trio. Beatrix, my dear, come."

When the marquise, Camille, and Conti had arranged themselves at the
piano, Calyste rose softly, without attracting their attention, and
flung himself on one of the sofas in the bedroom, the door of which
stood open, where he sat with his head in his hands, plunged in
meditation.

X. DRAMA

"What is it, my child?" said Claude Vignon, who had slipped silently
into the bedroom after Calyste, and now took him by the hand. "You love;
you think you are disdained; but it is not so. The field will be free to
you in a few days and you will reign--beloved by more than one."

"Loved!" cried Calyste, springing up, and beckoning Claude into the
library, "Who loves me here?"

"Camille," replied Claude.

"Camille loves me? And you!--what of you?"

"I?" answered Claude, "I--" He stopped; sat down on a sofa and rested
his head with weary sadness on a cushion. "I am tired of life, but I
have not the courage to quit it," he went on, after a short silence. "I
wish I were mistaken in what I have just told you; but for the last few
days more than one vivid light has come into my mind. I did not wander
about the marshes for my pleasure; no, upon my soul I did not! The
bitterness of my words when I returned and found you with Camille were
the result of wounded feeling. I intend to have an explanation with her
soon. Two minds as clear-sighted as hers and mine cannot deceive each
other. Between two such professional duellists the combat cannot last
long. Therefore I may as well tell you now that I shall leave Les
Touches; yes, to-morrow perhaps, with Conti. After we are gone strange
things will happen here. I shall regret not wit