you believe me guilty?"

"Good God! I suspect you!"

"Then why----"

"I was mad, Marguerite, my only love, I was mad! But who would not have
lost his senses under such circumstances? It was the very day after this
atrocious conspiracy. I had seen Madame Leon, and had trusted her with
a letter for you in which I entreated you to grant me five minutes'
Conversation."

"Alas! I never received it."

"I know that now; but then I was deceived. I went to the little garden
gate to await your coming, but it was Madame Leon who appeared. She
brought me a note written in pencil and signed with your name, bidding
me an eternal farewell. And, fool that I was, I did not see that the
note was a forgery!"

Mademoiselle Marguerite was amazed. The veil was now torn aside, and the
truth revealed to her. Now she remembered Madame Leon's embarrassment
when she met her returning from the garden on the night following the
count's death. "Ah, well! Pascal," she said, "do you know what I was
doing at almost the same moment? Alarmed at having received no news from
you, I hastened to the Rue d'Ulm, where I learned that you had sold your
furniture and started for America. Any other woman might have believed
herself deserted under such circumstances, but not I. I felt sure that
you had not fled in ignominious fashion. I was convinced that you had
only concealed yourself for a time in order to strike your enemies more
surely."

"Do not shame me, Marguerite. It is true that of us two I showed myself
the weaker."

Lost in the rapture of the present moment, they had forgotten the past
and the future, the agony they had endured, the dangers that still
threatened them, and even the existence of their enemies.

But Madame Ferailleur was watching. She pointed to the clock, and
earnestly exclaimed: "Time is passing, my son. Each moment that
is wasted endangers our success. Should any suspicion bring Madame
Vantrasson here, all would be lost."

"She cannot come upon us unawares, my dear mother. Chupin has promised
not to lose sight of her. If she stirs from her shop, he will hasten
here and throw a stone against the shutters to warn us."

But even this did not satisfy Madame Ferailleur.

"You forget, Pascal." she insisted, "that Mademoiselle Marguerite must
be at home again by ten o'clock, if she consents to the ordeal you feel
obliged to impose upon her."

This was the voice of duty recalling Pascal to the stern realities of
life. He slow