For about a minute Maxence remained stupefied at this suddendenouement; and, when he had recovered his presence of mind and hisvoice, Mlle. Lucienne had disappeared, and he could hear her boltingher door, and striking a match against the wall.

He might also have thought that he was awaking from a dream, had henot had, to attest the reality, the vague perfume which filled hisroom, and the light shawl, which Mlle. Lucienne wore as she came in,and which she had forgotten, on a chair.

The night was almost ended: six o'clock had just struck. Still hedid not feel in the least sleepy. His head was heavy, his templesthrobbing, his eyes smarting. Opening his window, he leaned out tobreathe the morning air. The day was dawning pale and cold. Afurtive and livid light glanced along the damp walls of the narrowcourt of the Hotel des Folies, as at the bottom of a well. Alreadyarose those confused noises which announce the waking of Paris, andabove which can be heard the sonorous rolling of the milkmen's carts,the loud slamming of doors, and the sharp sound of hurrying steps onthe hard pavement.

But soon Maxence felt a chill coming over him. He closed the window,threw some wood in the chimney, and stretched himself on his chair,his feet towards the fire. It was a most serious event which hadjust occurred in his existence; and, as much as he could, heendeavored to measure its bearings, and to calculate its consequencesin the future.

He kept thinking of the story of that strange girl, her haughtyfrankness when unrolling certain phases of her life, of herwonderful impassibility, and of the implacable contempt for humanitywhich her every word betrayed.. Where had she learned that dignity,so simple and so noble, that measured speech, that admirable respectof herself, which had enabled her to pass through so much filthwithout receiving a stain?.

"What a woman!" he thought.

Before knowing her, he loved her. Now he was convulsed by one ofthose exclusive passions which master the whole being. Already hefelt himself so much under the charm, subjugated, dominated,fascinated; he understood so well that he was going to cease beinghis own master; that his free will was about escaping from him;that he would be in Mlle. Lucienne's hands like wax under themodeler's fingers; he saw himself so thoroughly at the discretionof an energy superior to his own, that he was almost frightened.

"It's my whole future that I am going to risk," he thought.

And there was no middle path. Either he must fly at once, withoutwaiting for Mlle. Lucienne to awake, fly without looking behind, orelse stay, and then accept all the chances of an incurable passionfor a woman who, perhaps, might never care for him. And he remainedwavering, like the traveler who finds himself at the intersectionof two roads, and, knowing that one leads to the goal, and the otherto an abyss, hesitates which to take.

With this difference, however, that if the traveler errs, anddiscovers his error, he is always free to retrace his steps; whereasman, in life, can never return to his starting-point. Every step hetakes is final; and if he has erred, if he has taken the fatal road,there is no remedy.

"Well, no matter!" exclaimed Maxence. "It shall not be said thatthrough cowardice I have allowed that happiness to escape whichpasses within my reach. I shall stay." And at once he began toexamine what reasonably he might expect; for there was no mistakingMlle. Lucienne's intentions. When she had said, "Do you wish to befriends?" she had meant exactly that, and nothing else, - friends,and only friends.

"And yet," thought Maxence, "if I had not inspired her with a realinterest, would she have so wholly confided unto me? She is notignorant of the fact that I love her; and she knows life too wellto suppose that I will cease to love her when she has allowed me acertain amount of intimacy."His heart filled with hope at the idea.

My mistress," he thought, "never, evidently, but my wife. Why not?"But the very next moment he became a prey to the bitterestdiscouragement. He thought that perhaps Mlle. Lucienne might havesome capital interest in thus making a confidant of him. She hadnot told him the explanation given her by the peace-officer. Hadshe not, perhaps, succeeded in lifting a corner of the veil whichcovered the secret of her birth? Was she on the track of herenemies? and had she discovered the motive of their animosity?

"Is it possible," thought Maxence, "that I should be but one of thepowers in the game she is playing? How do I know, that, if she wins,she will not cast me off?"In the midst of these thoughts, he had gradually fallen asleep,murmuring to the last the name of Lucienne.

The creaking of his opening door woke him up suddenly. He startedto his feet, and met Mlle. Lucienne coming in.

"How is this?" said she. "You did not go to bed?""You recommended me to reflect," he replied. "I've been reflecting."He looked at his watch: it was twelve o'clock.

"Which, however," he added, "did not keep me from going to sleep."All the doubts that besieged him at the moment when he had beenovercome by sleep now came back to his mind with painful vividness.

"And not only have I been sleeping," he went on, "but I have beendreaming too."Mlle. Lucienne fixed upon him her great black eyes.

"Can you tell me your dream?" she asked.

He hesitated. Had he had but one minute to reflect, perhaps hewould not have spoken; but he was taken unawares.

"I dreamed," he replied, "that we were friends in the noblest andpurest acceptance of that word. Intelligence, heart, will, all thatI am, and all that I can, - I laid every thing at your feet. Youaccepted the most entire devotion the most respectful and the mosttender that man is capable of. Yes, we were friends indeed; andupon a glimpse of love, never expressed, I planned a whole futureof love." He stopped.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well, when my hopes seemed on the point of being realized, ithappened that the mystery of your birth was suddenly revealed toyou. You found a noble, powerful, and wealthy family. You resumedthe illustrious name of which you had been robbed; your enemies werecrushed; and your rights were restored to you. It was no longerVan Klopen's hired carriage that stopped in front of the Hotel desFolies, but a carriage bearing a gorgeous coat of arms. Thatcarriage was yours; and it came to take you to your own residencein the Faubourg St. Germain, or to your ancestral manor.""And yourself?" inquired the girl.

Maxence repressed one of those nervous spasms which frequently breakout in tears, and, with a gloomy look,"I," he answered, "standing on the edge of the pavement, I waitedfor a word or a look from you. You had forgotten my very existence.

Your coachman whipped his horses; they started at a gallop; and soonI lost sight of you. And then a voice, the inexorable voice of fate,cried to me, 'Never more shalt thou see her!'"With a superb gesture Mlle. Lucienne drew herself up.

"It is not with your heart, I trust, that you judgeme, M. Maxence Favoral," she uttered.

He trembled lest he had offended her.

"I beseech you," he began.

But she went on in a voice vibrating with emotion,"I am not of those who basely deny their past. Your dream willnever be realized. Those things are only seen on the stage. Ifit did realize itself, however, if the carriage with thecoat-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, wouldhave 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 thosewords which always seem to be lacking at the most critical moments.

But he was suffocating; and the tears, accumulated by so manysuccessive 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 butresolutely she withdrew her hand, and, fixing upon him her beautifulclear gaze,"Friends," she uttered.

Her accent alone would have been sufficient to dissipate thepresumptuous 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 thinkthat we may find love at some turn of the road."She made no answer. And thus was sealed between them a treaty offriendship, to which they were to remain so strictly faithful, thatthe 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. VanKlopen's, and an hour later Maxence started for his office. Theyreturned home at night, and spent their evenings together by thefireside.

But what was easy to foresee now took place.

Weak and undecided by nature, Maxence began very soon to feel theinfluence of the obstinate and energetic character of the girl.

She infused, as it were, in his veins, a warmer and more generousblood. Gradually she imbued him with her ideas, and from her ownwill gave him one.

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

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

He had admitted to her that it was only with great reluctance andunder pressure of necessity, that he worked at all; that he was farfrom being rich; that although he took his dinner with his parents,his salary barely sufficed for his wants; and that he had debts.

He hoped, however, he added, that it would not be always thus, andthat, sooner or later, he would see the termination of all thismisery and privation; for his father had at least fifty thousandfrancs a year and some day he must be rich.

Far from smiling, Mlle. Lucienne frowned at such a prospect.

"Ah! your father is a millionaire, is he?" she interrupted. "Well,I understand now how, at twenty-five, after refusing all thepositions which have been offered to you, you have no position. Yourelied on your father, instead of relying on yourself. Judging thathe worked hard enough for two, you bravely folded your arms, waitingfor the fortune which he is amassing, and which you seem to consideryours."Such morality seemed a little steep to Maxence. "I think," he began,"that, if one is the son of a rich man -""One has the right to be useless, I suppose?" added the girl.

"I do not mean that; but -""There is no but about it. And the proof that your views are wrong,is that they have brought you where you are, and deprived you of yourown free will. To place one's self at the mercy of another, be thatother your own father, is always silly; and one is always at themercy of the man from whom he expects money that he has not earned.

Your father would never have been so harsh, had he not believed thatyou could not do wit............