love such as I have never before known; but most would tell you
all _my_ love is worthless, and my life has been one of reckless
dissipation and of darker errors still, until you awoke me to a deeper
love--to thoughts and aspirations that I thought had died out for ever.
Painful as it is to confess----"

"Hush!" interrupted Nina, gently. "Confess nothing; with your past life
I can have nothing to do, and I wish never to hear anything that it
gives you pain to tell. You say that you love me now, and will never
love another--that is enough for me."

Ernest kissed the flushed cheeks and eloquent lips, and thanked her with
all the fiery passion that was in him; and his heart throbbed fiercely
as he put her promise to the test.

"No, my darling! Priceless as your love is to me I will not buy it by
concealment. I will not sully your ears with the details of my life. God
forbid I should! but it is only due to you to know that I did give both
these women the love-tokens they brought you. Love! It is desecration of
the name, but I knew none better then! Three years ago, Bluette Lemaire
first appeared at the Odeon. She is illiterate, coarse, heartless, but
she was handsome, and she drew me to the coulisses. I was infatuated
with her, though her ignorance and vulgarity constantly grated against
all my tastes. One night at her petit souper I drank more Sillery than
was wise. I have a stronger head than most men: perhaps there was some
other stimulant in it; at any rate, she who was then poor, and is always
avaricious, got from me a promise to marry her, or to pay twenty
thousand francs. Three months after I gave it I cared no more for her
than for my old glove. France is too wise to have Breach of Promise
cases, and give money to coarse and vengeful women for their pretended
broken hearts; but I had no incentive to create a scene by breaking with
her, and so she kept the promise in her hands. What Pauline de Melusine
is, you can judge. Twelve months ago I met her at Vichy; the love she
gave me, and the love I vowed her, were of equal value--the love of
Paris boudoirs. That I sent her that picture only two days ago, is, of
course, false. On my word, as a man of honor, since the moment I felt
your influence upon me I have shunned her. Now, my own love, you know
the truth. Will you send me from you, or will you still love and still
forgive?"

In an agony of suspense he bent his head to listen for her answer. Tears
rained down her