announced. He was waiting for her. As Marianne could not feel free so
long as he held the proof of her imprudence, some day or other she must
inevitably seek him to supplicate or threaten him. The letter received
overnight had apprised him that that moment had arrived.

He had just finished dressing when she entered. His suede gloves were
laid out flat on a little table beside his hat, his stick and a small
antique cloisonne vase into which were thrown the many-colored rosettes
of his foreign decorations, some of them red, amid which a little gold
cross glistened like some brilliant beetle settled on a deep-hued rose.

"I wager that you are going out!" Marianne remarked abruptly. "Clearly,
you did not expect me!--Haven't you received my letter?"

"My dear Marianne," he replied, as he slowly finished adjusting the knot
of his cravat, "that is the very remark you made when you condescended
to reappear at my house after a lapse of some years. You have too modest
a way of announcing yourself; I assure you that, for my part, I always
expect you--and that with impatience. But to-day, more than on any other
occasion, because of your charming note."

She knew Guy well enough to perceive that his exquisite politeness only
concealed a warlike irony. She did not reply, but stood smiling in front
of the fireplace and warmed her toes at the light flames that leapt
about the logs.

"You are exceedingly polite," she said at last. "On honor, I like you
very much--you laugh? I say very much--Yes, in spite--In no case, have
you had aught to complain of me."

She half turned, resting her left hand on the edge of the velvet-covered
mantel, and cast a furtive, gentle glance at Lissac that recalled a
multitude of happy incidents.

"I have never complained," said the young man, "and I have frequently
expressed my thanks!"

Marianne laughed at the discreet manner so ceremoniously adopted by
Lissac.

"You are silly, come!--We have a great liking for each other, and it is
in the name of that affection that I come to ask a service."

"You have only to speak, my dear Marianne," Lissac answered, as if he
had not noticed the intimacy her words expressed.

He affected a cold politeness; Marianne replied to him with apparent
renewed tenderness. She looked at him for some time as if she hesitated
and feared, her glance penetrating Lissac's, and begging with a tearful
petition that wished to kindle a flame in his eyes.

"What I have to say