astened to a stone, had come fluttering over the wall and
fallen at her feet.

The nuns glanced at each other, horrified and amazed at the audacity of
the young Italian.

"Zuleika," said Sister Agatha, "I told you your punishment should be as
light as possible. You have been exposed and reprimanded; the blush of
shame has been brought to your cheek! This, I think, is penalty
sufficient for a first offense, considering also that it was, in a
measure, forced upon you. But beware of a second infraction of our
rules! Now, return to your companions."

So it happened that Zuleika suffered but slightly for the imprudence and
headlong devotion of her lover. Fearing gossip, the Sisterhood of the
Sacred Heart suppressed the matter, and the Count of Monte-Cristo never
heard of it. Zuleika expected ridicule from her companions, but the
warm-blooded, romantic Italian girls, instead of ridiculing her, looked
upon her as a heroine and envied her the possession of a lover daring
and devoted enough to scale the wall of a convent garden.

CHAPTER IV.

A STORMY INTERVIEW.

When Captain Joliette entered the dressing-room of Mlle. d' Armilly,
after quitting the Count of Monte-Cristo at the Apollo Theatre on the
sudden termination of the performance of "Lucrezia Borgia," he found the
prima donna lying upon a sofa and slowly recovering from the effects of
her swoon. Her maid and the ladies of the company, the latter still in
their stage attire, were giving her every attention. It was a strange
and somewhat grotesque scene--a real drama with theatrical surroundings.
The blazing lights, enclosed by their wire spheres, threw a ruddy glare
upon the faces of those present, making them appear weird and witch-like
in their paint and powder. On chairs and tables lay Mlle. d' Armilly's
changes of dress for the performance and her street garments, while upon
a broad shelf in front of a mirror were the various mysterious articles
used in her make-up--rouge, grease-paint, poudre de riz, etc., together
with brushes and numerous camel's hair pencils. A basin filled with
water stood on a washstand, and on the floor was the pitcher, in company
with a heterogeneous collection of stage and street boots belonging to
the eminent songstress. The director of the theatre was standing
anxiously beside the suffering prima donna, mentally calculating the
chances of her ability to appear the following night. Leon d' Armilly
was walking back and forth in