r finger on her lip, her face bent down. A
low and indistinct sound of voices reached her straining ear through the
thin door that divided her from Maltravers. She listened intently, but
she could not overhear the import. Her heart beat violently. "He is not
alone!" she murmured, mournfully. "I will wait till the sound ceases,
and then I will venture in!"

And what was the conversation carried on in that chamber? We must return
to Ernest. He was sitting in the same thoughtful posture when Madame de
Ventadour returned.

The Frenchwoman coloured when she found herself alone with Ernest, and
Ernest himself was not at his ease.

"Herbert has gone home to order the carriage, and Lord Doningdale has
disappeared, I scarce know whither. You do not, I trust, feel the worse
for the rain?"

"No," said Valerie.

"Shall you have any commands in London?" asked Maltravers; "I return to
town to-morrow."

"So soon!" and Valerie sighed. "Ah!" she added, after a pause, "we
shall not meet again for years, perhaps. Monsieur de Ventadour is to
be appointed ambassador to the Court and so--and so--. Well, it is no
matter. What has become of the friendship we once swore to each other?"

"It is here," said Maltravers, laying his hand on his heart. "Here, at
least, lies the half of that friendship which was my charge; and more
than friendship, Valerie de Ventadour--respect--admiration--gratitude.
At a time of life when passion and fancy, most strong, might have left
me an idle and worthless voluptuary, you convinced me that the world has
virtue, and that woman is too noble to be our toy--the idol of to-day,
the victim of to-morrow. Your influence, Valerie, left me a more
thoughtful man--I hope a better one."

"Oh!" said Madame de Ventadour, strongly affected; "I bless you for what
you tell me: you cannot know--you cannot guess how sweet it is to me.
Now I recognise you once more. What--what did my resolution cost me? Now
I am repaid!"

Ernest was moved by her emotion, and by his own remembrances; he took
her hand, and pressing it with frank and respectful tenderness--"I did
not think, Valerie," said he, "when I reviewed the past, I did not think
that you loved me--I was not vain enough for that; but, if so, how
much is your character raised in my eyes--how provident, how wise your
virtue! Happier and better for both, our present feelings, each to each,
than if we had indulged a brief and guilty dream of passion, at war with
all that l