and then returned to
him. "No, no," she continued, "I have too great an interest in knowing
who you are. Hide nothing from me; tell me the truth. Who are you? for
you are no more a pupil of the Ecole Polytechnique than you are eighteen
years old."

"I am a sailor, ready to leave the ocean and follow you wherever your
imagination may lead you. If I have been so lucky as to rouse your
curiosity in any particular I shall be very careful not to lessen it.
Why mingle the serious affairs of real life with the life of the heart
in which we are beginning to understand each other?"

"Our souls might have understood each other," she said in a grave voice.
"But I have no right to exact your confidence. You will never know the
extent of your obligations to me; I shall not explain them."

They walked a few steps in silence.

"My life does interest you," said the young man.

"Monsieur, I implore you, tell me your name or else be silent. You are
a child," she added, with an impatient movement of her shoulders, "and I
feel a pity for you."

The obstinacy with which she insisted on knowing his name made the
pretended sailor hesitate between prudence and love. The vexation of a
desired woman is powerfully attractive; her anger, like her submission,
is imperious; many are the fibres she touches in a man's heart,
penetrating and subjugating it. Was this scene only another aspect of
Mademoiselle de Verneuil's coquetry? In spite of his sudden passion the
unnamed lover had the strength to distrust a woman thus bent on forcing
from him a secret of life and death.

"Why has my rash indiscretion, which sought to give a future to our
present meeting, destroyed the happiness of it?" he said, taking her
hand, which she left in his unconsciously.

Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who seemed to be in real distress, was silent.

"How have I displeased you?" he said. "What can I do to soothe you?"

"Tell me your name."

He made no reply, and they walked some distance in silence. Suddenly
Mademoiselle de Verneuil stopped short, like one who has come to some
serious determination.

"Monsieur le Marquis de Montauran," she said, with dignity, but without
being able to conceal entirely the nervous trembling of her features, "I
desire to do you a great service, whatever it may cost me. We part here.
The coach and its escort are necessary for your protection, and you must
continue your journey in it. Fear nothing from the Republicans; they are
men of