t did realize itself, however, if the carriage with the
coat-of-arms did come to the door, the companion of the evil days,
the friend who offered me his month's salary to pay my debt, would
have a seat by my side."

That was more happiness than Maxence would have dared to hope for.
He tried, in order to express his gratitude, to find some of those
words which always seem to be lacking at the most critical moments.
But he was suffocating; and the tears, accumulated by so many
successive emotions, were rising to his eyes.

With a passionate impulse, he seized Mlle. Lucienne's hand, and,
taking it to his lips, he covered it with kisses. Gently but
resolutely she withdrew her hand, and, fixing upon him her beautiful
clear gaze,

"Friends," she uttered.

Her accent alone would have been sufficient to dissipate the
presumptuous illusions of Maxence, had he had any. But he had none.

"Friends only," he replied, "until the day when you shall be my wife.
You cannot forbid me to hope. You love no one?"

"No one."

"Well since we are going to tread the path of life, let me think
that we may find love at some turn of the road."

She made no answer. And thus was sealed between them a treaty of
friendship, to which they were to remain so strictly faithful, that
the word "love" never once rose to their lips.

In appearance there was no change in their mode of life.

Every morning, at seven o'clock, Mlle. Lucienne went to M. Van
Klopen's, and an hour later Maxence started for his office. They
returned home at night, and spent their evenings together by the
fireside.

But what was easy to foresee now took place.

Weak and undecided by nature, Maxence began very soon to feel the
influence of the obstinate and energetic character of the girl.
She infused, as it were, in his veins, a warmer and more generous
blood. Gradually she imbued him with her ideas, and from her own
will gave him one.

He had told her in all sincerity his history, the miseries of his
home, M. Favoral's parsimony and exaggerated severity, his mother's
resigned timidity, and Mlle. Gilberte's resolute nature.

He had concealed nothing of his past life, of his errors and his
follies, confessing even the worst of his actions; as, for instance,
having abused his mother's and sister's affection to extort from
them all the money they earned.

He had admitted to her that it was only with great reluctance and
under pressure of necessity, that he work