ny.

With a beating heart, and a cheek that momentarily changed color, she
looked all along the edges of the court, and over the tall plants, and
under the shadow of the lofty jessamine-covered wall. She listened with
breathless and excited suspense--she waited for some minutes; but,
having watched and listened in vain, she pressed her hand on her heart,
and, with a deep and trembling sigh, turned back again. It was at this
moment she saw something white, no bigger than a playing-card, lie at
her feet. She picked it up, entered her room, and trembling violently,
closed the window again, and was alone.

VIII.--THE ORDEAL.

The next morning came with sunshine, and the merry carols of all the
sylvan choirs. It would have meetly ushered in a day of rejoicing; but
joy seemed to have bid an eternal adieu to the luxurious solitudes of
the Chateau des Anges.

Julie that morning remarked that Lucille remained unusually late in her
own rooms. Fearing that she might be ill, she ventured to visit her in
her apartments. It was past twelve o'clock when she knocked at her door.
There was no answer; and she knocked repeatedly, but without success. At
last she opened the door, but Lucille was not as usual in that room. She
walked through it, and the apartment beyond it, without seeing her; but
in her dressing-room, which lay beyond that again, she found her.

She was sitting in a loose morning-robe; her head was supported by her
hand, and the open sleeve of heavy silk had fallen back from her white
round arm. An open letter lay upon the table under her gaze. She had
evidently been weeping, and was so absorbed either in her own
reflections or the contents of the letter, that she did not perceive the
entrance of Julie.

The visitor paused; but feeling that every moment of her undiscovered
presence added to the awkwardness of her situation, she called Lucille
by name.

At the sound of her name she started from her seat, and stood, pale as
death, with all her dark hair shaken wildly about her shoulders, and her
eyes gleaming with a malign terror upon the intruder. At the same moment
she had clutched the letter, and continued to crumple it in her hand
with a spasmodic eagerness.

Julie was almost as much confounded as Lucille. Both were silent for a
time.

"I beg your pardon, dear Lucille; I fear my unperceived intrusion
startled you."

"Yes, yes; I suppose I am nervous. I am not well. Oh, God! you did
startle me very much."