ment. In the scene in which he avows his
love, his voice was full of the passionate cry of a declaration which
overflows and swamps everything. True, he had to act with the prettiest
Columbine in the world: Naomi looked delicious that evening in her
bridal costume of Louis XVI., copied exactly from the 'Bride's Minuet,'
a print by Debucourt, which Barousse had lent for the purpose.

A sort of enchantment filled the whole room, and reached Madame Bourjot;
a sort of sympathetic complicity with the actors seemed to encourage the
pretty couple to love one another. The piece went on. Now and again
Henry's eyes seemed to look for those of Madame Bourjot, over the
footlights. Meanwhile, Renee appeared disguised as the village bailiff;
it only remained to sign the contract; Pierrot, taking the hand of the
woman he loved, began to tell her of all the happiness he was going to
have with her.

The woman who sat next to Madame Bourjot felt her lean somewhat on her
shoulder. Henry finished his speech, the piece disentangled itself and
came to an end. All at once Madame Bourjot's neighbor saw something
glide down her arm; it was Madame Bourjot, who had just fainted.

* * * * *

"Oh, do pray go indoors," said Madame Bourjot to the people who were
standing around her. She had been carried into the garden. "It is past
now; it is really nothing; it was only the heat." She was quite pale,
but she smiled. "I only want a little air. Let M. Henry only stay with
me."

The audience retired. Scarcely had the sound of feet died away,
when--"You love her!" said Madame Bourjot, seizing Henry's arm as though
she were taking him prisoner with her feverish hands; "you love her!"

"Madame--" said Henry.

"Hold your tongue! you lie!" And she threw his arm from her. Henry
bowed.--"I know all. I have seen all. But look at me!" and with her eyes
she closely scanned his face. Henry stood before her, his head
bent.--"At least speak to me! You can speak, at any rate! Ah, I see
it,--you can only act in her company!"

"I have nothing to say to you, Laura," said Henry in his softest and
clearest voice. Madame Bourjot started at this name of Laura as though
he had touched her. "I have struggled for a year, madame," began Henry;
"I have no excuse to make. But my heart is fast. We knew each other as
children. The charm has grown day by day. I am very unhappy, madame, at
having to acknowledge the truth to you. I love your dau