spirit, good or evil, that could tell it. I am
weary of my life, Marguerite. I would rather beg or work with my
liberty, and the friends I like, than see my days glide by in this dull,
wealthy house, without interest, or hope, or--or _love_."

"But never desire, while you live, my child, the visits of the Evil One.
Once asked for, it is said he never refuses them."

"Say you so? then I invite him with all my heart," she said, with a
bitter pleasantry; "he can't be a great deal worse than the society I
have sometimes had to share; and, if he discloses the futurity that
awaits me, he will have been the most instructive companion that fortune
ever lent me."

"Chut! madame, listen."

"What is the matter, Marguerite?"

"Did not you hear?"

"What?--whom?"

"There--there again; blessed Virgin shield us!"

"Psha! Marguerite; it is nothing but the moths flying against the
window-panes; I have heard that little tapping a hundred times."

"Well, well, maybe so; but say your prayers, my dear, and ask
forgiveness for your foolish words."

"No, Marguerite; for in truth I do wish my fortune were read to me, and
care not by whom."

"Hey, what's that? Chut! in Heaven's name hold thy mad tongue," she
cried, in the irritation of panic; "surely _that_ is no moth. May the
saints guard your bed, my child. You heard it, did you not?"

"Hum--yes--there was a sound."

"I should think so, par bleu! something a size or two larger than a
moth, too."

"It was a spray of one of the plants swung by the breeze against the
window."

"Ma foi! it was no such thing, my sweet pet; no, no, something with a
pair of wings fluttered up against it."

Had the old woman, in her trepidation, had leisure to study the
countenance of her young mistress, she would have perceived that her
cheeks were flushed with crimson. But she was too busy with her medley
of prayers and protestations, and too fully preoccupied with the idea of
an unearthly visitation.

"Well, well, Marguerite, be it as you say; I'll not dispute the point;
but leave me now; I'm tired, and would sleep. Good night."

After the old woman had withdrawn some minutes, Lucille rose from her
bed. She had only been partially undressed; and throwing on her
dressing-gown, and putting her little ivory feet into her slippers, she
glided to her chamber-door, which she secured, and then cautiously, and
almost fearfully, stepped to the window, which she pushed open, and
stood upon the balco