with an aureole of brightness.

Gradually the spell fell from him. For as he looked, the girl's face
changed and hardened and grew older; grew sharper and whiter; and he
discerned the difference between Claire and Corinne. Corinne had never
looked at him, or at any one, after that fashion. With a sigh, yet with
eyes that often and involuntarily returned to the lode-star, he
recovered himself; and he made, or pretended to make, a meal. His
appetite, however, was gone, and he was thankful when his host rose and
put an end to the constrained sitting.

"You will excuse me," the Republican said, drawing out his watch and
looking at it. "I should be at M. Carnot's at this hour. These rooms,
however, are at your disposal, my friend; and if you want books, my
daughter will direct you where to find them. But--caution, remember!"

And with that, to the Vicomte's astonishment, M. Mirande departed,
leaving the two together. For a moment the young man sat, troubled and
perplexed, gazing at the floor. He had intercepted the glance of warning
which his host on leaving had aimed at his daughter; and with the
knowledge that he was suspected, with the brutally frank exhortation
addressed to himself fresh in his mind, to be left alone with the girl
surprised him beyond measure.

Presently he stole a look at her. She had passed to one of the windows,
and, having seated herself, was employed upon some needle-work. Her
attitude, the lines of her figure, the pose of her head, presented the
same abnormal maddening resemblance to his wife; and slowly, as if
fascinated, he moved nearer to her.

"Pardon me," he said at last, speaking almost in a whisper. "You are
very like your sister, mademoiselle."

She glanced quickly at him, her face wearing the hard, sharp look that
had slowly grown upon it. But she gave him no other answer.

He felt that he ought to leave her, but the spell was upon him and he
lingered.

"You have been ill, I fear," he said, after a long silence.

"Monsieur is right," she answered briefly. "The times are such that few
of us escape. Those are perhaps most happy," and as she paused on the
word she looked up at him, "who die with their beliefs unshattered,
before discovering the clay feet of their idols."

He started.

"Mademoiselle!" he cried almost fiercely, carried away by an intensely
painful thought. "My wife! Your sister? Answer me, answer me quickly, I
beg of you. They did not--they did not tell her that I