d the casket to the apprentice."

Chariot started. "Is that so?" he asked.

"Yes; the poor girl is very happy. It would kill her to lose it.
Besides, the key is not in the wardrobe."

Suddenly perceiving that she was weakening her own position, she was
silent. The young man was no longer the supplicating lover, he was
the spoiled child of the house, imploring his aunt to save him from
dishonor.

Through her tears she mechanically repeated the words, "It is
impossible."

Suddenly he rose to his feet.

"You will not? Very good. Only one thing remains then. Farewell! I will
not survive disgrace."

He expected a cry. No; she came toward him.

"You wish to die! Ah, well, so do I! I have had enough of life, of
shame, of falsehood, and of love--love that must be concealed with such
care that I am never sure of finding it. I am ready."

He drew back. "What folly!" he said, sullenly. "This is too much," he
added, vehemently, after a moment's silence, and hurried to the stairs.

She followed him. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Leave me!" he said, roughly. She snatched his arm.

"Take care!" she whispered with quivering lips. "If you take one more
step in that direction, I will call for assistance!"

"Call, then! Let the world know that your nephew is your lover, and your
lover a thief."

He hissed these words, in her ear, for they both spoke very low,
impressed, in spite of themselves, by the silence and repose of the
house. By the red light of the dying fire he appeared to her suddenly
in his true colors, just what he really was, unmasked by one of those
violent emotions which show the inner workings of the soul.

She saw him with his keen eyes reddened by constant examination of
the cards; she thought of all she had sacrificed for this man; she
remembered the care with which she had adorned herself for this
interview. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by profound disgust for herself
and for him, and sank, half-fainting, on the couch; and while the thief
crept up the familiar staircase, she buried her face in the pillows
to stifle her cries and sobs, and to prevent herself from seeing and
hearing anything.

The streets of Indret were as dark as at midnight, for it was not yet
six o'clock. Here and there a light from a baker's window or a wine-shop
shone dimly through the thick fog. In one of these wineshops sat Chariot
and Jack.

"Another glass, my boy!"

"No more, thank you. I fear it would make me very