, has now become a grave doctor who never jests, and insists
that his prescriptions be literally followed. To add example to precept,
I will remain in this room and watch over the prophetess of San Carlo,
and if I do not leave her cured and reasonable," said he, whispering in
the Duchess's ear, "for I am a physician of the mind as well as body, I
will at least do her some good. All my brothers of the medical
profession cannot say as much."

He then handed the Count his hat and pointed to the door.

"To-morrow evening, at nine," said the Count, "I will call on you." An
expression of joy hung on La Felina's lips, and she nodded in
acknowledgment.

Monte-Leone placed his lips on the yet icy hand of the ambassadress, and
then approached Von Apsberg, to whom he said in a low tone, "You swear
that you will save her."

"I do," said Matheus.

The Count went to the door, not the one the doctor had pointed out, but
to the secret one through which he had come, and a few minutes after was
alone in the _Champs Elysees_, doubtful whether all that had passed was
not a dream. The letter which he had found, and which rattled in his
bosom, with its mysterious broken phrases, its shreds of threats and
vengeance, sufficed to recall to his mind the reality of the scene which
he had been both an actor and participator in. According to his promise,
on the day after this series of alarms and torments, Monte-Leone went to
the hotel of the Neapolitan minister just as the bell of Saint Philippe
de Roule rang for nine. The Count on this occasion came us an ordinary
visitor to the principal door.

"The Duchess," said the usher, "made an exception of Count Monte-Leone
alone, in orders she gave that no one should be admitted. Madame had
last night a nervous attack from which she yet suffers. She, however,
expects your excellency."

The Count went into the reception room, and soon after was introduced
into the Duchess's boudoir. He found Madame de Palma lying on a divan,
and her countenance yet showed traces of her sufferings. Monte-Leone was
touched.

The Duchess gave him her hand and bade him be seated. She said, "You see
almost a spectre or ghost escaped from the grave. Do not, however, be
afraid, the ghost will not rise before you animated by wrath and anger.
Did it wish to do so, it is now too feeble." The Duchess used her salts,
as if she would regain that strength which seemed rapidly leaving her.

"Felina," said the Count, gently an