as drawn
over her head, almost completely concealing her features.

'I do trust you,' she said in reply to the young man's words--'I do
indeed. And now, good-by, dear Andre; we shall meet again soon--in our
own beautiful Normandie.' And she held out her hand, which he took and
held for an instant without speaking.

'May I not conduct you home?' he asked at length.

'No, Andre; it is better that we should part here. We must not trust
too much to our courage, it has failed us so often already.' And as
she spoke, she raised her head, and looked up tearfully at her
companion, disclosing as she did so a face of striking beauty,
although worn and pallid to a painful degree, and appearing even more
so than it really was from the total absence of her hair. The tears
sprang to Adelaide's eyes. In the careworn countenance before her she
read a bitter tale. Almost instinctively, she drew forth her purse,
and leaning over the side of the carriage, called 'Lucille! Lucille!'
But the young girl did not hear her; she had already turned, and was
hastening rapidly away, while Andre stood gazing after her, as if
uncertain of the reality of what had just occurred. He was so deeply
engrossed in his reflections, that he did not hear his name repeatedly
pronounced by both Adelaide and her friend. The latter at length
directed the servant to accost him, and the footman was alighting for
that purpose, when two men turned quickly the corner of the street,
and perceiving Andre, stopped suddenly, and one of them exclaimed:
'Ah, good-evening, Bernard; you are just the very fellow we want;' and
taking Andre by the arm, he drew him under the shade of a _porte
cochere_, and continued, as he placed a small morocco case in his
hand: 'Take care of this for me, Andre, till I return: I shall be at
your lodgings in an hour. Giraud and I are going to the Cite, and as
this pocket-book contains valuables, we are afraid of losing it. _Au
revoir_!'

Andre made no reply. He placed the pocket-book carelessly in his
bosom, and his two friends continued hastily their way. He was himself
preparing to depart, when the footman touched him gently on the
shoulder, and told him of Mademoiselle de Varenne's wish to speak to
him. Andre approached the carriage, surprised and half abashed at the
unlooked-for honour; then taking off his cap, waited respectfully for
one of the ladies to address him. At the same instant, a
police-officer seized him roughly by the arm, and