med flowers, and alabaster lamps half hidden in luxuriant foliage
shed a delicious twilight over the scene, while through the interlacing
leaves of tropical plants could just be seen the leafless gloomy trees
beyond, and the snow covering the earth as with a winding sheet. Even
the temperature was changed, and a sudden shiver passed through his
veins. The contrast of all this verdure, these magnificent and
blossoming orange trees--these magnolias, splendid with the waxy blooms,
with the gilded salons he had left, bewildered him. It seemed difficult
to connect the thought of murder with this fair-smiling and enchanted
scene. The soft gravel yielded to his tread, and plashing fountains
murmured forth a plaintive and monotonous harmony.

Gaston was almost afraid to look for a human form. At length he glanced
round.

Nothing! he went on.

At length, beneath a broad-leaved palm, surrounded by blooming
rhododendrons, he saw the black phantom seated on a bank of moss, his
back turned toward the side from whence he was approaching.

The blood rushed to Gaston's cheeks, his hand trembled, and he vainly
sought for some support.

The domino did not move.

Gaston involuntarily drew back. All at once he forced his rebellious
limbs to move on, and his trembling fingers to grasp the knife they had
almost abandoned, and he stepped toward the regent, stifling a sob which
was about to escape him.

At this moment the figure moved, and Gaston saw the golden bee, which
seemed like a burning gem before his eyes.

The domino turned toward Gaston, and as he did so, the young man's arm
grew rigid, the foam rose to his lips, his teeth chattered, for a vague
suspicion entered his breast.

Suddenly he uttered a piercing cry. The domino had risen, and was
unmasked--his face was that of the Duc d'Olivares.

Gaston, thunderstruck, remained livid and mute. The regent and the duke
were one and the same. The regent retained his calm majestic attitude;
looked at the hand which held the knife, and the knife fell. Then,
looking at his intended murderer with a smile at once sweet and sad,
Gaston fell down before him like a tree cut by the ax.

Not a word had been spoken; nothing was heard but Gaston's broken sobs,
and the water of the fountains plashing monotonously as it fell.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE PARDON.

"Rise, monsieur," said the regent.

"No, monseigneur," cried Gaston, bowing his forehead to the ground,
"oh, no, it is at yo