pique him. We are disposed to think there was a powerful, but
mysterious, cause at work in this change.

It was just about this time that one night, Julie, having sat up rather
later than usual, and intending to bid Lucille good night, if she were
still awake, entered her suite of apartments, and approached her
dressing-room door. She heard her rush across the floor, as she did so,
and, with a face of terror, she emerged from the door and stood before
it, as if to bar ingress to the room.

Julie was disconcerted and agitated by this apparition; and Lucille was
evidently, from whatever cause, greatly terrified. The two girls
confronted one another with pale and troubled looks. Lucille was white
with fear, and, alas! as it seemed to her companion, with the agitation
of guilt. Julie looked at her all aghast.

"Good night, Julie, good night," she whispered, hurriedly.

"Good night," answered she; "I fear I have interrupted--I mean, startled
you."

"Good night, good night," repeated Lucille.

As Julie retreated across the lobby, she was overtaken by Lucille, who
placed her hand upon her shoulder.

"Julie, will you hate me if I tell you all?" she said, in great
agitation, as she hurried with her into her apartment.

"_Hate_ you, Lucille! How could I hate my dear friend and companion?"

"Friend, O yes, _friend_; what a friend I have proved to you!"

"Come, come, you must not let yourself be excited; you know you are my
friend, my _only_ friend and confidante, and you know I love you."

Lucille covered her face with her hands and sobbed or shuddered
violently. Julie embraced and kissed her tenderly; but, in the midst of
these caresses, her unhappy friend threw her arms about her neck, and,
looking earnestly in her face for a few seconds, drew her passionately
to her heart and kissed her, murmuring as she did so--

"No, no; she never could forgive me."

And, so saying, she mournfully betook herself away, leaving Julie a prey
to all manner of vague and perplexing alarms.

Whatever was the cause of Lucille's profound mental agitation, it was an
impenetrable mystery to Julie. Blassemare obviously did not know what to
make of it; and as the fete drew near without eliciting any
corresponding interest on her part, Julie, who had observed with
pleasure the delight with which at first she had anticipated the event,
was dismayed and astonished at the change. As often as she had
endeavored to recall her to the topic so str