ore resplendently beautiful than at this moment.

"Speak,--speak again!" he exclaimed, with excitement. "For now you speak
in earnest. Oh, if I could--"

"One can do what one wishes," replied Cecily, sternly.

"But--"

"But I tell you, old as you are, if I were in your place I would
undertake to engage the affections of a young and handsome woman, and
once having achieved this result, what had been against me would turn to
my advantage. What pride, what triumph to say to oneself, I have made my
age and ugliness forgotten! The love that is shown me I do not owe to
pity, but to my spirit, my courage, and my skill. Yes, and now if there
were here some handsome young fellows, brilliant with grace and
attractions, the lovely woman, whom I have subdued by proofs of a
resistless and unbounded devotion, would not deign to cast a look at
them. No; for she would know that these elegant effeminates would fear
to compromise the tie of their cravat, or a curl of their hair, in
obedience to her caprices; whilst if she cast her handkerchief in the
midst of flames, on a signal from her her old tiger would rush into the
furnace with a roar of ecstasy."

"Yes, I would do it! Try! Try!" exclaimed Jacques Ferrand, more and more
excited.

Cecily continued drawing nearer to the aperture, and fixing on Jacques
Ferrand a steadfast and penetrating look.

"For this woman would well know," continued the creole, "that she would
have some exorbitant caprice to satisfy,--that these dandies would look
at their money, if they had any, or, if they had not, at some other low
consideration, whilst her old tiger--"

"Would consider nothing,--nothing, I tell you.
Fortune,--honour,--he--he--would sacrifice all!"

"Really?" said Cecily, putting her lovely fingers on the bony fingers of
Jacques Ferrand, whose clutched hands, passed through the small glass
door, were clasping the top of the ledge. "Would not this woman be
ardently loved?" added Cecily. "If she had an enemy, and with a gesture
pointed him out to her old tiger, and said to him, Strike--"

"And he would strike!" exclaimed Jacques Ferrand, attempting to press
Cecily's fingers with his parched lips.

"Really, the old tiger would strike?" said the creole, placing her hand
gently on the hand of Jacques Ferrand.

"To possess you," cried the wretch, "I could commit a crime--"

"Ah, master," said Cecily, suddenly, and withdrawing her hand,
"go--go,--in my turn I scarcely know you,--you d