of feeling. "I accept the charge."

M. Mirande smiled, but only for a moment. Quickly the light died out of
his face, leaving it stern and austere. His brow grew dark, and turning
with a sigh to his table, he signed to his companion to leave him, and
was presently immersed in figures and calculations.

The young man retired; on his side full of doubt and amazement, yet
lifted by the other's appeal to a higher level of will and purpose.
Confidence begets honour. Frankly as he had gone to the Girondin with
his confession, so frankly had the other received it. Now he felt that
it behoved him to deserve confidence. Henceforth Claire must be his
sister. But he knew that merely to call her sister was not all. He knew
enough of his own weakness to recognize the necessity of shunning
temptation, and during the next three days he was careful to avoid
conversation with the girl; who on her part seemed to observe nothing,
but went to and fro about her household duties.

And yet she did not go about them as usual, a keen observer would have
said. A subtle change had come over her. Alone in her room she sang to
herself low crooning songs of happiness. Her eyes, so carefully lowered
in the parlour, shone with a tender brightness, when no one saw them.
Her cheek had grown fuller, her colour stronger, her whole being
radiant. If she still went delicately when other's eyes were upon her,
it was rather in sympathy with the heavy air of fear and expectation
which pervaded the house, which pervaded the city, than in obedience to
her natural impulses.

On the third evening, M. Mirande, who had been abroad all day, came home
rather later than usual. The Vicomte and Claire were sitting in separate
rooms, but something ominous in the sound of his footstep as he mounted
the stairs, drew them both to the lobby to receive him. The evening
light, shining through the window behind them, fell full upon his face
and exaggerated its cold and grey severity. They waited for him in
silence, and he did not see them until he set his foot on the last step.
Then he pointed to his room, and, "Go in there, my children," he said
gravely.

The young man started. The girl blushed and trembled. They both obeyed.
M. Mirande's next act was equally surprising. Following them into the
room he proceeded to lock and bolt the door behind him; and then passing
quickly to the window he looked out. For a moment they stood behind him
in silence. After a pause the Vicom