ghtened him away,
something, doubtless, that he saw in the street, perhaps a sergent de
ville. Your recognition of him was fancied."

"It was not fancied. But we must not stay here; I would not see that
face, those eyes again for worlds!"

Zuleika took her friend's arm and walked with her towards the mansion,
endeavoring as they went along to reassure her, to reason her out of her
fright. Her efforts, however, proved altogether futile. Mlle. d' Armilly
was utterly unnerved and at once retired to her room.

Notwithstanding her willingness to believe that Mlle. d' Armilly had
been deceived with regard to the identity of the beggar and, in her
confusion, had confounded him with some one else, Zuleika could not
altogether shake off a feeling of vague apprehension, of ill-defined
terror when she thought over the singular conduct and wild agitation of
the former music-teacher in the quiet and solitude of her own chamber.
Why had Mlle. d' Armilly been so stricken at the sight of the mendicant?
Why had she so earnestly entreated her to say nothing of what had
occurred to any one, and, especially, to avoid all mention of the matter
to Albert de Morcerf's wife? Mlle. d' Armilly had seen too much of the
world to be frightened by a mere trifle. Was it possible that the ragged
outcast had been in some way identified with young Madame de Morcerf's
operatic career, that he had been her lover? The latter supposition
would furnish a plausible cause for the former music-teacher's terror,
as the reappearance of a lover might lead to disclosures well-calculated
to seriously disturb the happiness and tranquillity of the newly-made
husband and wife. Zuleika had heard that Eugenie had been much courted
during the period she was on the stage, that she had numbered her ardent
admirers by scores, but this man seemed too old, too forlorn, to have
recently been in a position to scatter wealth at the feet of a prima
donna. Besides, Mlle. d' Armilly had spoken of him as a ghost and had
appeared to refer him to a period more remote. Zuleika had also heard of
Mlle. Danglars' broken marriage-contract away back in the past. Could
this beggar be the scoundrel who had masqueraded under the assumed title
of Prince Cavalcanti and had so nearly become her husband? Perhaps; but
even if he were that unscrupulous wretch, what harm could his
reappearance do at this late day, now that the old story had been
thoroughly sifted and almost forgotten? Albert was wel