e person before whom Ninny Moulin stopped in such extreme astonishment
was the Bacchanal Queen.

Pale and wan, with, hair in disorder, hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and
clothed almost in rags, this brilliant and joyous heroine of so many mad
orgies was now only the shadow of her former self. Misery and grief were
impressed on that countenance, once so charming. Hardly had she entered
the room, when Cephyse paused; her mournful and unquiet gaze strove
to penetrate the half-obscurity of the apartment, in search of him she
longed to see. Suddenly the girl started, and uttered a loud scream.
She had just perceived, at the other side of a long table, by the bluish
light of the punch, Jacques struggling with Morok and one of the guests,
who were hardly able to restrain his convulsive movements.

At this sight Cephyse, in her first alarm, carried away by her
affection, did what she had so often done in the intoxication of joy and
pleasure. Light and agile, instead of losing precious time in making a
long circuit, she sprang at once upon the table, passed nimbly through
the array of plates and bottles, and with one spring was by the side of
the sufferer.

"Jacques!" she exclaimed, without yet remarking the lion-tamer, and
throwing herself on the neck of her lover. "Jacques! it is I--Cephyse!"

That well-known voice, that heart-piercing cry, which came from the
bottom of the soul, seemed not unheard by Sleepinbuff. He turned his
head mechanically towards the Bacchanal Queen, without opening his eyes,
and heaved a deep sigh; his stiffened limbs relaxed, a slight trembling
succeeded to the convulsions, and in a few seconds his heavy eyelids
were raised with an effort, so as to uncover his dull and wandering
gaze. Mute with astonishment, the spectators of this scene felt an
uneasy curiosity. Cephyse, kneeling beside her lover, bathed his hands
in her tears, covered them with kisses, and exclaimed, in a voice broken
by sobs, "It is I--Cephyse--I have found you again--it was not my fault
that I abandoned you! Forgive me, forgive--"

"Wretched woman!" cried Morok, irritated at this meeting, which might,
perhaps, be fatal to his projects; "do you wish to kill him? In his
present state, this agitation is death. Begone!" So saying, he seized
Cephyse suddenly by the arm, just as Jacques, waking, as it were, from a
painful dream, began to distinguish what was passing around him.

"You! It is you!" cried the Bacchanal Queen, in amazement