ring."

"Then you are waited for?"

"No; I wait, as you see."

"Are they to open the door to you?"

"No; to whistle three times from the window."

Henri, trembling all over, placed one hand on Ernanton's arm and with
the other pointed to the opposite house.

"From there?" said he.

"Oh! no; from there," said Ernanton, pointing to the "Brave Chevalier."

Henri uttered a cry of joy. "Oh! a thousand thanks, monsieur," said he;
"pardon my incivility--my folly. Alas! you know, for a man who really
loves, there exists but one woman, and, seeing you always return to this
house, I believed that it was here you were waited for."

"I have nothing to pardon, monsieur; for really I half-thought you had
come on the same errand as myself."

"And you had the incredible patience to say nothing! Ah! you do not
love, you do not love."

"Ma foi! I have no great rights as yet; and these great ladies are so
capricious, and would, perhaps, enjoy playing me a trick."

"Oh! M. de Carmainges, you do not love as I do; and yet--"

"Yet what?"

"You are more happy."

"Ah! are they cruel in that house?"

"M. de Carmainges, for three months I have loved like a madman her who
lives there, and I have not yet had the happiness of hearing the sound
of her voice."

"Diable! you are not far advanced. But stay."

"What is it?"

"Did not some one whistle?"

"Indeed, I think I heard something."

A second whistle was now distinctly heard.

"M. le Comte," said Ernanton, "you will excuse me for taking leave, but
I believe that is my signal."

A third whistle sounded.

"Go, monsieur," said Joyeuse; "and good luck to you."

Ernanton made off quickly, while Joyeuse began to walk back more
gloomily than ever.

"Now for my accustomed task," said he; "let me knock as usual at this
cursed door which never opens to me."

CHAPTER LVI.

THE DOOR OPENS.

On arriving at the door of the house, poor Henri was seized by his usual
hesitation.

"Courage!" said he to himself.

But before knocking, he looked once more behind him, and saw the bright
light shining through the windows of the hotel.

"There," said he, "enter for love and joy, people who are invited almost
without desiring; why have I not a tranquil and careless heart? Perhaps
I might enter there also, instead of vainly trying here."

Ten o'clock struck. Henri lifted the knocker and struck once, then
again.

"There," said he, listening, "there is the inner door o