rrow
for the richest joys of others. This unhappiness is my treasure! To be
loved by you! To think that there was a time when our love might have
been legitimate! What fatality weighs upon us, Octave? Why did we know
each other too late? I often dream a beautiful dream--a dream of
freedom."

"You are free if you love me--It is the rain against the windows," said
he, seeing Madame de Bergenheim anxiously listening again. They kept
silent for a moment, but could hear nothing except the monotonous
whistling of the storm.

"To be loved by you and not to blush!" said she, as she gazed at him
lovingly. "To be together always, without fearing that a stroke of
lightning might separate us! to give you my heart and still be worthy to
pray! it would be one of those heavenly delights that one grasps only in
dreams--"

"Oh! dream when I shall be far from you; but, when I am at your feet,
when our hearts beat only for each other, do not evoke, lest you destroy
our present happiness, that which is beyond our power. Do you think there
are bonds which can more strongly unite us? Am I not yours? And you,
yourself, who speak of the gift of your heart, have you not given it to
me entirely?"

"Oh! yes, entirely! And it is but right, since I owe it to you. I did not
understand life until the day I received it from your eyes; since that
minute I have lived, and I can die. I love you! I fail to find words to
tell you one-tenth of what my heart contains, but I love you--"

He received her in his arms, where she took refuge so as to conceal her
face after these words. She remained thus for an instant, then arose with
a start, seized Octave's hands and pressed them in a convulsive manner,
saying in a voice as weak as a dying woman's:

"I am lost!"

He instinctively followed Clemence's gaze, which was fastened upon the
glass door. An almost imperceptible movement of the muslin curtain was
evident. At the same moment, there was a slight noise, a step upon the
carpet, the turning of the handle of the door, and it was silently opened
as if by a ghost.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE AGREEMENT

Madame de Bergenheim tried to rise, but her strength failed her, she fell
on her knees, and then dropped at her lover's feet. The latter leaped
from the divan with out trying to assist her, stepped over the body
stretched before him, and drew his poniard out of his pocket.

Christian stood upon the threshold of the door silent and motionless.

There