o the passionate
promises of a stranger, and pledged her life to him. And, the pact
concluded and solemnly sworn, they had parted without knowing when
propitious circumstances might bring them together again.

"Certainly," thought she, "before God, M. de Tregars is my betrothed
husband; and yet we have never exchanged a word. Were we to meet in
society, we should be compelled to meet as strangers: if he passes by
me in the street, he has no right to bow to me. I know not where he
is, what becomes of him, nor what he is doing."

And in fact she had not seen him again: he had given no sign of life,
so faithfully did he conform to her expressed wish. And perhaps
secretly, and without acknowledging it to herself, had she wished him
less scrupulous. Perhaps she would not have been very angry to see
him sometimes gliding along at her passage under the old Arcades of
the Rue des Vosges.

But, whilst suffering from this separation, she conceived for the
character of Marius the highest esteem; for she felt sure that he
must suffer as much and more than she from the restraint which he
imposed upon himself.

Thus he was ever present to her thoughts. She never tired of
turning over in her mind all he had said of his past life: she
tried to remember his words, and the very tone of his voice.

And by living constantly thus with the memory of Marius de Tregars,
she made herself familiar with him, deceived to that extent, by
the illusion of absence, that she actually persuaded herself that
she knew him better and better every day.

Already nearly a month had elapsed, when one afternoon, as she
arrived on the Place Royal; she recognized him, standing near that
same bench where they had so strangely exchanged their pledges.

He saw her coming too: she knew it by his looks. But, when she
had arrived within a few steps of him, he walked off rapidly,
leaving on the bench a folded newspaper.

Mme. Favoral wished to call him back and return it; but Mlle.
Gilberte persuaded her not to.

"Never mind, mother," said she, "it isn't worth while; and, besides,
the gentleman is too far now."

But while getting out her embroidery, with that dexterity which never
fails even the most naive girls, she slipped the newspaper in her
work-basket.

Was she not certain that it had been left there for her?

As soon as she had returned home, she locked herself up in her own
room, and, after searching for some time through the columns, she