to speak to me," said Elise, finally, in a low, languid
voice. "May I now beg of you--"

The lady threw back her veil, and allowed Elise to see a handsome
countenance, moistened with tears. "It is I who have to beg," said
she, with a touching foreign accent, while seizing Elise's hand, she
pressed it warmly to her breast. "Forgive me; since I have seen you,
I have forgotten what I had to say. At sight of you, all my words, and
even my anger have left me. You are very beautiful. Be as noble as
you are beautiful. My fate lies in your hands. You can restore me to
happiness."

"God alone can do that," said Elise, solemnly.

"At this moment you are the divinity who has the disposal of my fate.
You alone can restore me to happiness, for you have deprived me of
it--yes, you, so young, so handsome, and apparently so innocent. You
are the murderess of my happiness." Her eyes sparkled, and a bright
blush suffused her hitherto pale cheeks. "Yes," cried she, with a
triumphant laugh, "now I am myself again. My hesitation has vanished,
and anger is again supreme. I am once more the lioness, and ready to
defend the happiness of my life."

Elise drew herself up, and she, too, felt a change in her heart. With
the instinct of love, she felt that this handsome woman who stood
opposite to her was her rival, her enemy with whom she had to struggle
for her most precious property. Passion filled her whole being, and
she vowed to herself not to yield a single step to this proud beauty.
With an expression of unspeakable disdain, she fixed her eyes upon
the countess. Their flashing looks crossed each other like the bright
blades of two combatants in a duel.

"I do not understand you," said Elise, with angry coldness. "You must
speak more plainly, if you wish to be understood."

"You do not wish to understand me," cried the countess. "You wish to
avoid me, but I will not let you. I have suffered so much that I will
not suffer any longer. We stand here opposite each other as two women
engaged in a combat for life and death."

Elise suppressed the cry of pain which rose in her breast, and
compelled herself to assume a proud and impassible composure. "I still
do not understand you, nor do I desire to contend with an unknown
person. But if you will not leave my room, you will allow me to do
so."

She turned to go, but the countess seized her hand, and held her back.
"No! you cannot go!" cried she, passionately. "You cannot go, for
I know t