ed; too
deeply engrossed in her own sadness, she had not heard the opening of
the door, or her mother's exclamation of surprise, and Mademoiselle de
Varenne was at her side before she was in the least conscious of her
presence. Adelaide touched her gently on the arm.

'What is the matter, Lucille?' she asked. 'Tell me: I will do all I
can to help you.' At these words the mother interposed, and said
softly: 'I am sure, madame, you are very kind to speak so to her. I am
afraid you will find her an ungrateful girl; if you had heard her
words to me just now--to me, her own mother!'

'I did hear them,' returned Adelaide. 'She said she had given her life
for you. What did she mean? What did you mean, Lucille?' she asked,
gently addressing the young girl, whose face was buried in her hands.

'Forgive me, mother; I was wrong,' murmured Lucille; 'but I scarcely
know what I say sometimes. Mademoiselle,' she continued earnestly, 'I
am not ungrateful; but if you knew how all my heart was bound to home,
and how miserable I am here, you would pity and forgive me, if I am
often angry and impatient.'

'You were never miserable till he came,' retorted the mother; 'and now
that he is going, you will be so no more. It will be a happy day for
both of us when he leaves Paris.' At this moment heavy steps were
heard ascending the stairs; then voices raised as if in anger. Lucille
started up; in an instant her pale cheek was suffused with the deepest
crimson, her eye flashed, and her whole frame trembled violently. Her
mother grasped her by the hand, but she freed herself with a sudden
effort, and darting past Madame d'Heranville and the hairdresser, who
had entered some time before, she ran out upon the landing. Adelaide
followed, and at once perceived the cause of her emotion. Andre was
rapidly ascending the stairs, his countenance pale, and his whole
demeanour indicating the agitation of his feelings. He was closely
followed by the police-officer, whose voice, as he once more grasped
his prisoner, appalled the terrified Lucille. 'You have given us a
sharp run,' he exclaimed, 'and once I thought you had got off. You
should not have left your hiding-place till dark, young gentleman.'
And, heedless of the frantic and agonised gestures of the unhappy
youth, he drew him angrily away.

Lucille sprang forward, and taking Andre's hand in hers, she looked
long and earnestly in his face. He read in her eyes the question she
did not dare to ask,