rise, she herself appeared at the end of the salon, advancing with a
tearful expression. The sight of her, dragged down into his pit of
misery, sent him distracted. All was forgotten for a few moments, as she
tearfully clasped him in her arms and murmured--

"Germain, you are no adventurer, no Sillon. Though all the world be
against you, I shall die with you."

Intoxicated with surprise that she did not repel him, yet overcome with
the belief that it was to be their last embrace, he lost himself for the
time in mingled remorse and mad bliss. They clung to each other as so
many others have clung in those short moments which are the attar of a
lifetime. At length he grew more conscious, and the delirium of holding
that face and golden hair to his breast triumphed over the pain of
guilt. At that moment they simultaneously perceived a shadow and
started.

"Baroness," said a severe voice, "you make me blush for my house."

Cyrene and Germain sprang apart in alarm.

"_You_," Madame l'Etiquette said, addressing Germain, "have dared to
enact such a scene here. You, the apothecary's apprentice----"

"Madame," Cyrene cried, her eyes flashing, "withdraw those words! I
demand it!"

The situation aroused all his faculties.

"Madame la Marechale," said he quite coolly, "has taken, I observe, the
word of my enemies without asking for the facts. I shall not fatigue her
with arguments, as I am on my way to produce the proofs."

With two profound bows, the first to Cyrene, the other to Madame de
Noailles, he withdrew.

CHAPTER XXXII

A STRONG PROOF

Remorse in all its horror seized him with the last glance of Cyrene's
tearful eyes. He could not but feel the demand of those eyes for fine
honour in the man on whom they rested in love. She was to him the white
flower sprung of the truth and fearlessness, as well as the grace, of
long descended chivalry, and who must not be associated with anything
base. He had never before fully faced his Repentigny impersonation in
the aspect of a falsity to her. Now, after his direct lie to her,
self-contempt threatened to altogether overwhelm him.

He mechanically went on to Paris, whither Dominique had gone before to
secure his lodging. The evening of his arrival was spent in grief.

"The fault is mine, but why?" he asked himself with impatient gloom.
"Why has Providence so unfairly divided the honours and the guilt of
life? Why are there rich and poor? Why good and bad? Why sho