an extraordinary manner?"

"Yes, sir; as if he had something very serious to communicate."

"Something serious--aha! Then let him in." Camors rose and paced the
chamber, a smile of bitter mockery wreathing his lips. "And must I now
kill him?" he muttered between his teeth.

Lescande entered, and his first act dissipated the apprehension his
conduct had caused. He rushed to the young Count and seized him by both
hands, while Camors remarked that his face was troubled and his lips
trembled. "Sit down and be calm," he said.

"My friend," said the other, after a pause, "I come late to see you, for
which I crave pardon; but--I am myself so miserable! See, I am in
mourning!"

Camors felt a chill run to his very marrow. "In mourning! and why?" he
asked, mechanically.

"Juliette is dead!" sobbed Lescande, and covered his eyes with his great
hands.

"Great God!" cried Camors in a hollow voice. He listened a moment to
Lescande's bitter sobs, then made a movement to take his hand, but dared
not do it. "Great God! is it possible?" he repeated.

"It was so sudden!" sobbed Lescande, brokenly. "It seems like a dream--a
frightful dream! You know the last time you visited us she was not well.
You remember I told you she had wept all day. Poor child! The morning of
my return she was seized with congestion--of the lungs--of the brain--I
don't know!--but she is dead! And so good!--so gentle, so loving! to the
last moment! Oh, my friend! my friend! A few moments before she died, she
called me to her side. 'Oh, I love you so! I love you so!' she said. 'I
never loved any but you--you only! Pardon me!--oh, pardon me!' Pardon
her, poor child! My God, for what? for dying?--for she never gave me a
moment's grief before in this world. Oh, God of mercy!"

"I beseech you, my friend--"

"Yes, yes, I do wrong. You also have your griefs.

"But we are all selfish, you know. However, it was not of that that I
came to speak. Tell me--I know not whether a report I hear is correct.
Pardon me if I mistake, for you know I never would dream of offending
you; but they say that you have been left in very bad circumstances. If
this is indeed so, my friend--"

"It is not," interrupted Camors, abruptly.

"Well, if it were--I do not intend keeping my little house. Why should I,
now? My little son can wait while I work for him. Then, after selling my
house, I shall have two hundred thousand francs. Half of this is
yours--return it when you can!"

"