master of the house. "Will you be kind enough
to follow me?" said the servant to whom he handed his card. "The baron
is very busy, but that doesn't matter. He gave orders that monsieur
should be shown up as soon as he arrived."

Pascal followed without a word. The elegance of this princely abode
never varied. The same careless, prodigal, regal luxury was apparent
everywhere. The servants--whose name was legion--were always passing
noiselessly to and fro. A pair of horses, worth at least a thousand
louis, and harnessed to the baroness's brougham, were stamping and
neighing in the courtyard; and the hall was, as usual, fragrant with the
perfume of rare flowers, renewed every morning.

On his first visit Pascal had only seen the apartments on the ground
floor. This time his guide remarked that he would take him upstairs
to the baron's private room. He was slowly ascending the broad marble
staircase and admiring the bronze balustrade, the rich carpet, the
magnificent frescoes, and the costly statuary, when a rustle of silk
resounded near him. He had only time to step aside, and a lady passed
him rapidly, without turning her head, or even deigning to look at him.
She did not appear more than forty, and she was still very beautiful,
with her golden hair dressed high on the back of her head. Her costume,
brilliant enough in hue to frighten a cab horse, was extremely eccentric
in cut; but it certainly set off her peculiar style of beauty to
admirable advantage.

"That's the baroness," whispered the servant, after she had passed.

Pascal did not need to be told this. He had seen her but once, and then
only for a second; but it had been under such circumstances that he
should never forget her so long as he lived. And now he understood the
strange and terrible impression which had been produced upon him when he
saw her first. Mademoiselle Marguerite was the living prototype of this
lady, save as regards the color of her hair. And there would have been
no difference in this respect had the baroness allowed her locks to
retain their natural tint. Her hair had been black, like Marguerite's,
and black it had remained until she was thirty-five, when she bleached
it to the fashionable color of the time. And every fourth day even now
her hairdresser came to apply a certain compound to her head, after
which she remained in the bright sunlight for several hours, so as to
impart a livelier shade of gold to her dyed locks.

Pascal had