y me; when at last,
after exacting from me a solemn oath to do nothing nor to take any step
without her concurrence, she placed in my hands a letter, saying, "This
came while you were out."

It ran to this effect:--

"The Vicomte Dechaine begs to offer to Mademoiselle De La Veronie
[Margot's name in the theatre] his box at the Francais for this evening,
as it must doubtless be interesting to her to witness the performance of
Roxalane by one who labors under the double difficulty of her beauty and
her reason. An answer will be called for."

"You cannot expect me to endure this outrage, Margot!" cried I,
trembling with passion; "you could not suppose that I can live under
it?"

"I have your oath, sir," said she, solemnly, and with a dignity that at
once recalled me to myself.

"But if I am to drag out life dishonored and degraded even to my own
heart, Margot," said I, imploringly, "you surely would take pity on me!"

"And who would pity me, sir, were I to make you a murderer? No, no!"
cried she, "you would have this secret,--you insisted on it; show
yourself worthy of this confidence, by keeping your solemn pledge. We
leave this to-morrow; a few hours is not too much sacrifice for one who
will give her whole life to you after."

As she spoke she fell into my arms, and sobbed as though her heart was
breaking. As for me, my transports knew no bounds. I dropped at her
feet; I vowed and swore a thousand times that not only my life, but that
my fame, my honor, were all hers; that to deserve her there was no trial
I would not dare. Oh, the glorious ecstasy of that moment comes back
like a flood of youth once more upon this old and shattered heart; and,
as I write these lines, the hot tears are falling on the paper, and my
lips are murmuring a name I have not strength to write.

"I will put your loyalty to the test at once," said she, gayly, and with
a degree of wild joyousness the very opposite to her late emotion. "Sit
down there, and write as I dictate."

I obeyed, and she began:--

"'Mademoiselle De La Veronie begs to acknowledge, with a gratitude
suitable to the occasion, the polite note of the Vicomte Dechaine, and
to accept--'"

"What!" cried I, dropping the pen.

"Go on," said she, calmly; "write as I tell you: 'to accept his box this
evening at the Francais.'"

"Margot, you are not in earnest!" said I, entreatingly.

"I am resolved, sir," said she, with a voice of determination and a look
of almost re