ot oppose me in the
fulfilment of a dying request. Mme. la Comtesse will be at liberty to
break the silence which is imposed upon me."

At this eulogy, the Count swung his head very amiably, responded with
a tolerably involved compliment, and finally left me a free field. We
returned to the house. The bell rang, and I was invited to dinner. As we
came up to the house, a grave and silent couple, Juliette stole a
glance at us. Not a little surprised to find her husband contriving some
frivolous excuse for leaving us together, she stopped short, giving me
a glance--such a glance as women only can give you. In that look of
hers there was the pardonable curiosity of the mistress of the house
confronted with a guest dropped down upon her from the skies and
innumerable doubts, certainly warranted by the state of my clothes, by
my youth and my expression, all singularly at variance; there was all
the disdain of the adored mistress, in whose eyes all men save one are
as nothing; there were involuntary tremors and alarms; and, above all,
the thought that it was tiresome to have an unexpected guest just now,
when, no doubt, she had been scheming to enjoy full solitude for her
love. This mute eloquence I understood in her eyes, and all the pity and
compassion in me made answer in a sad smile. I thought of her, as I had
seen her for one moment, in the pride of her beauty; standing in the
sunny afternoon in the narrow alley with the flowers on either hand; and
as that fair wonderful picture rose before my eyes, I could not repress
a sigh.

"Alas, madame, I have just made a very arduous journey----, undertaken
solely on your account."

"Sir!"

"Oh! it is on behalf of one who calls you Juliette that I am come," I
continued. Her face grew white.

"You will not see him to-day."

"Is he ill?" she asked, and her voice sank lower.

"Yes. But for pity's sake, control yourself.... He intrusted me with
secrets that concern you, and you may be sure that never messenger could
be more discreet nor more devoted than I."

"What is the matter with him?"

"How if he loved you no longer?"

"Oh! that is impossible!" she cried, and a faint smile, nothing less
than frank, broke over her face. Then all at once a kind of shudder ran
through her, and she reddened, and she gave me a wild, swift glance as
she asked:

"Is he alive?"

Great God! What a terrible phrase! I was too young to bear that tone in
her voice; I made no reply, only looked