ed to her in a
subdued tone,--

"Clelie," I said, "did I hear you speak?"

"Yes," she returned from within the room. "Come at once, and bring with
you some brandy."

In the shortest possible time I had joined her in the room, which was
bare, cold, and unfurnished--a mere garret, in fact, containing nothing
but a miserable bedstead. Upon the floor, near the window, knelt Clelie,
supporting with her knee and arm the figure of the young man she had
come to visit.

"Quick with the brandy," she exclaimed. "This may be a faint, but it
looks like death." She had found the door partially open, and receiving
no answer to her knock, had pushed it farther ajar, and caught a glimpse
of the fallen figure, and hurried to its assistance.

To be as brief as possible, we both remained at the young man's side
during the whole of the night. As the _concierge_ had said, he was
perishing from inanition, and the physician we called in assured us that
only the most constant attention would save his life.

"Monsieur," Clelie explained to him upon the first occasion upon which
he opened his eyes, "you are ill and alone, and we wish to befriend
you." And he was too weak to require from her anything more definite.

Physically he was a person to admire. In health his muscular power must
have been immense. He possessed the frame of a young giant, and yet
there was in his face a look of innocence and inexperience amazing even
when one recollected his youth.

"It is the look," said Clelie, regarding him attentively,--"the look one
sees in the faces of Monsieur and his daughter down-stairs; the look of
a person who has lived a simple life, and who knows absolutely nothing
of the world."

It is possible that this may have prepared the reader for the
_denoument_ which followed; but singular as it may appear, it did not
prepare either Clelie or myself--perhaps because we _had_ seen the
world, and having learned to view it in a practical light, were not
prepared to encounter suddenly a romance almost unparalleled.

The next morning I was compelled to go out to give my lessons as usual,
and left Clelie with our patient. On my return, my wife, hearing my
footsteps, came out and met me upon the landing. She was moved by the
strongest emotion and much excited; her cheeks were pale and her eyes
shone.

"Do not go in yet," she said, "I have something to tell you. It is
almost incredible; but--but it is--the lover!"

For a moment we remained sile