ction remained unchanged that his brother had known what
passed, and was so overcome with joy that he had kissed the sofa whereon
Hermione had sat. The two men left the room together, but Paul presently
slipped away, and went home.

Strange to say, what he had seen did not have the effect of renewing his
resentment against Hermione so much as of exciting his anger against his
brother. He now felt for the first time that though he might give her up
to another, he could not give her up to Alexander. The feeling was
perhaps only an excuse suggested by the real love for her which filled
him, but it was strongly mixed with pride, and with the old hostility
which during so many years had divided the two brothers.

To give her up, and to his own brother,--the thing was impossible, not
to be thought of for a moment. As he walked quickly home over the rough
stones of the Grande Rue, he realized all that it meant, and stopped
short, staring at the dusky houses. He was not a man of dramatic
instincts. He did not strike his forehead, nor stamp his foot, nor
formulate in words the resolution he made out there in the dark street.
He merely thrust his hands deeper into the pockets of his overcoat, and
walked on; but he knew from that moment that he would fight for
Hermione, and that his mood of an hour ago had been but the passing
effect of a sudden anger. He regretted his hard speech and bitter looks,
and he wished that he had merely assented to her proposal to wait, and
had said no more about it until the next day. Hermione might talk of not
marrying him, but he would marry her in spite of all objections, and
especially in spite of Alexander.

Had she spoken thoughtlessly? In the light of his stronger emotion it
seemed so to him, and it was long before he realized that she had
suffered almost as much in making this sacrifice to her honesty as he
had suffered himself. But she had indeed been in earnest, and had done
courageously a very hard thing. She was conscious that she had made a
great mistake, and she wanted to avert the consequences of it, if there
were to be any consequences, before it was too late. She had allowed
Alexander to become too fond of her, as their interview that evening had
shown; and though she knew that she did not love him, she knew also that
she felt a growing sympathy for him, which was in some measure a wrong
to Paul. This sympathy had increased until it began to frighten her, and
she asked herself where