d honor commands her to forget your very name. Once more, and for the
last time, farewell! If you love me, you will not try to see me again.
It would only add to my misery.

"Think as though she were dead--she who signs herself--MARGUERITE."

The commonplace wording of this letter, and the mistakes in spelling
that marred it, entirely escaped Pascal's notice. He only understood one
thing, that Marguerite was lost to him, and that she was on the point of
becoming the wife of the vile scoundrel who had planned the snare which
had ruined him at the Hotel d'Argeles. Breathless, despairing, and half
crazed with rage, he sprang toward Madame Leon. "Marguerite, where is
she?" he demanded, in a hoarse, unnatural voice; "I must see her!"

"Oh! monsieur, what do you ask? Is it possible? Allow me to explain
to you----" But the housekeeper was unable to finish her sentence, for
Pascal had caught her by the hands, and holding them in a vicelike grip,
he repeated: "I must see Marguerite, and speak to her. I must tell her
that she has been deceived; I will unmask the scoundrel who----"

The frightened housekeeper struggled with all her might, trying her best
to reach the little gate which was standing open. "You hurt me!" she
cried. "Are you mad? Let me go or I shall call for help?" And twice
indeed she shouted in a loud voice, "Help! murder!"

But her cries were lost in the stillness of the night. If any one
heard them, no one came; still they recalled Pascal to a sense of the
situation, and he was ashamed of his violence. He released Madame Leon,
and his manner suddenly became as humble as it had been threatening.
"Excuse me," he said, entreatingly. "I am suffering so much that I
don't know what I'm doing. I beseech you to take me to Mademoiselle
Marguerite, or else run and beg her to come here. I ask but a moment."

Madame Leon pretended to be listening attentively; but, in reality, she
was quietly manoeuvring to gain the garden gate. Soon she succeeded in
doing so, whereupon, with marvellous strength and agility, she pushed
Pascal away, and sprang inside the garden, closing the gate after her,
and saying as she did so, "Begone, you scoundrel!"

This was the final blow; and for more than a minute Pascal stood
motionless in front of the gate, stupefied with mingled rage and sorrow.
His condition was not unlike that of a man who, after falling to the
bottom of a precipice, is dragging himself up, all mangled and bleeding,
swear