nne.

"One of your servants, no doubt. Be calm," said the count.

"Come in," said Adrienne, in an agitated voice.

"What is it?" said Mdlle. de Cardoville. Florine entered the room.

"M. Rodin has just been here. Fearing to disturb mademoiselle, he would
not come in; but he will return in half an hour. Will mademoiselle
receive him?"

"Yes, yes," said the count to Florine; "even if I am still here, show
him in by all means. Is not that your opinion?" asked M. de Montbron of
Adrienne.

"Quite so," answered the young girl; and a flash of indignation darted
from her eyes, as she thought of Rodin's perfidy.

"Oho! the old knave!" said M. de Montbron, "I always had my doubts
of that crooked neck!" Florine withdrew, leaving the count with her
mistress.

CHAPTER IX. LOVE.

Mdlle. de Cardoville was transfigured. For the first time her beauty
shone forth in all its lustre. Until now overshadowed by indifference,
or darkened by grief, she appeared suddenly illumined by a brilliant ray
of sunshine. The slight irritation caused by Rodin's perfidy passed like
an imperceptible shade from her brow. What cared she now for falsehood
and perfidy? Had they not failed? And, for the future, what human power
could interpose between her and Djalma, so sure of each other? Who would
dare to cross the path of those two things, resolute and strong with the
irresistible power of youth, love, and liberty? Who would dare to follow
them into that blazing sphere, whither they went, so beautiful and
happy, to blend together in their inextinguishable love, protected by
the proof armor of their own happiness? Hardly had Florine left the
room, when Adrienne approached M. de Montbron with a rapid step.
She seemed to have become taller; and to watch her advancing, light,
radiant, and triumphant, one might have fancied her a goddess walking
upon clouds.

"When shall I see him?" was her first word to M. de Montbron.

"Well--say to-morrow; he must be prepared for so much happiness; in so
ardent a nature, such sudden, unexpected joy might be terrible."

Adrienne remained pensive for a moment, and then said rapidly: "To
morrow--yes--not before to-morrow. I have a superstition of the heart."

"What is it?"

"You shall know. HE LOVES ME--that word says all, contains all,
comprehends all, is all--and yet I have a thousand questions to ask
with regard to him--but I will ask none before to-morrow, because, by a
mysterious fatality, to-morrow i