rolled in under the archway.

"Ah!" cried the Marquise, with something like joy in her voice, "he is
coming openly. He makes no mystery of it."

"Lord Grenville," announced the servant.

The Marquise stood up rigid and motionless; but at the sight of Arthur's
white face, so thin and haggard, how was it possible to keep up the
show of severity? Lord Grenville saw that Julie was not alone, but he
controlled his fierce annoyance, and looked cool and unperturbed. Yet
for the two women who knew his secret, his face, his tones, the look
in his eyes had something of the power attributed to the torpedo. Their
faculties were benumbed by the sharp shock of contact with his horrible
pain. The sound of his voice set Julie's heart beating so cruelly that
she could not trust herself to speak; she was afraid that he would see
the full extent of his power over her. Lord Grenville did not dare to
look at Julie, and Mme. de Wimphen was left to sustain a conversation
to which no one listened. Julie glanced at her friend with touching
gratefulness in her eyes to thank her for coming to her aid.

By this time the lovers had quelled emotion into silence, and could
preserve the limits laid down by duty and convention. But M. de Wimphen
was announced, and as he came in the two friends exchanged glances. Both
felt the difficulties of this fresh complication. It was impossible to
enter into explanations with M. de Wimphen, and Louisa could not think
of any sufficient pretext for asking to be left.

Julie went to her, ostensibly to wrap her up in her shawl. "I will be
brave," she said, in a low voice. "He came here in the face of all the
world, so what have I to fear? Yet but for you, in that first moment,
when I saw how changed he looked, I should have fallen at his feet."

"Well, Arthur, you have broken your promise to me," she said, in a
faltering voice, when she returned. Lord Grenville did not venture to
take the seat upon the sofa by her side.

"I could not resist the pleasure of hearing your voice, of being near
you. The thought of it came to be a sort of madness, a delirious frenzy.
I am no longer master of myself. I have taken myself to task; it is
no use, I am too weak, I ought to die. But to die without seeing you,
without having heard the rustle of your dress, or felt your tears. What
a death!"

He moved further away from her; but in his hasty uprising a pistol fell
out of his pocket. The Marquise looked down blankly at the w