ficulty in convincing the Signora Venosta that the girl
was crazed. But I felt the danger I incurred of her coming upon me some
moment when in company with Isaura, and so I left my father's house; and
naturally wishing to steer clear of this vehement little demon till I
am safely married, I keep my address a secret from all who are likely to
tell her of it."

"You do wisely if you are really afraid of her, and cannot trust your
nerves to say to her plainly, 'I am engaged to be married; all is at an
end between us. Do not force me to employ the police to protect myself
from unwelcome importunities.'"

"Honestly speaking, I doubt if I have the nerve to do that, and I doubt
still more if it would be of any avail. It is very ennuayant to be so
passionately loved; but, que voulez vous? It is my fate."

"Poor martyr! I condole with you: and, to say truth, it was chiefly
to warn you of Mademoiselle Caumartin's pertinacity that I call this
evening."

Here Savarin related the particulars of his rencontre with Julie, and
concluded by saying: "I suppose I may take your word of honour that you
will firmly resist all temptation to renew a connection which would be
so incompatible with the respect due to your fiancee? Fatherless and
protectorless as Isaura is, I feel bound to act as a virtual guardian
to one in whom my wife takes so deep an interest, and to whom, as she
thinks, she had some hand in bringing about your engagement: she is
committed to no small responsibilities. Do not allow poor Julie, whom
I sincerely pity, to force on me the unpleasant duty of warning your
fiancee of the dangers to which she might be subjected by marriage with
an Adonis whose fate it is to be so profoundly beloved by the sex in
general, and ballet nymphs in particular."

"There is no chance of so disagreeable a duty being incumbent on you,
M. Savarin. Of course, what I myself have told you in confidence is
sacred."

"Certainly. There are things in the life of a garcon before marriage
which would be an affront to the modesty of his fiancee to communicate
and discuss. But then those things must belong exclusively to the past
and cast no shadow over the future. I will not interrupt you further. No
doubt you have work for the night before you. Do the Red journalists for
whom you write pay enough to support you in these terribly dear times?"

"Scarcely. But I look forward to wealth and fame in the future. And
you?"

"I just escape starvation. If