esitation, a deep blush suffusing her
face and neck.

These symptoms, which he considered a bad augury, increased Octave's
irritation. He arose and said in a bitter tone:

"Fear nothing! I will not abuse the words which have escaped you, however
flattering or charming they may have been; they told me that you loved
me. I do not believe it any longer; you are agitated, I can see; but it
is from fear and not love."

Clemence drew herself up upon the divan, crossed her arms over her breast
and gazed at him for a few moments in silence.

"Do you believe these two sentiments incompatible?" she asked at last;
"you are the only one whom I fear. Others would not complain."

There was such irresistible charm in her voice and glance that Gerfaut's
ill-humor melted away like ice in the sun's rays. He fell upon his knees
before the divan, and tried to pass her arms about his neck as before;
but instead of lending herself to this project, she attempted to rise.

"I am so happy at your feet," he said, gently preventing her. "Everybody
else can sit beside you; I only have the right to kneel. Do not take this
right away from me."

Madame de Bergenheim extricated one of her hands, and, raising her finger
with a threatening gesture, she said:

"Think a little less of your rights, and more of your duties. I advise
you to obey me and to profit by my kindness, which allows you to sit by
my side for a moment. Think that I might be more severe, and that if I
treated you as you merited--if I told you to go away, would you obey me?"

Gerfaut hesitated a moment and looked at her supplicatingly.

"I would obey," said he; "but would you have the courage to order it?"

"I allow you to remain until just half past twelve," said she, as she
glanced at the clock, which she could see through the half-open door.
Gerfaut followed her glance, and saw that she accorded him only a quarter
of an hour: but he was too clever to make any observation. He knew that
the second quarter of an hour is always less difficult to obtain than the
first.

"I am sure," said she, "that you have thought me capricious to-day; you
must pardon me, it is a family fault. You know the saying: 'Caprice de
Corandeuil?"

"I wish it to be said: Amour de Gerfaut," said he, tenderly.

"You are right to be amiable and say pleasant things to me, for I need
them badly to-night. I am sad and weary; the darkest visions come before
my mind. I think it is the storm which makes me