“It would have to be an elopement, then,” said Aimée, with something between a smile and a sob, “for I have just been informed that we are to return to Paris to-morrow.” “Aimée!” It was fairly a scream that Mrs. Meredith gave. “You will not _dream_ of consenting to go?” “What reason have I for refusing?” the girl asked, wistfully. “I can not, without some reason, positively decline to accompany my mother. I have told them that I shall certainly marry Mr. Kyrle; but that has nothing to do with returning to Paris.” “It has everything to do with it!” said Fanny, in great excitement. “Why else should they think of taking you away in this manner? I tell you that they will hesitate at nothing when they have you alone with them. Aimée, _you must not go_.” “What would you have me do, then?” asked Aimée. “I would have you come with us.” (It had long been settled that the Merediths were to go from Venice to Vienna, while the question whether or not the Joscelyns should accompany them had been left open.) “They would never consent,” said Aimée, “and I can not endure the thought of a struggle. When the time comes to part from them I should like it to be in outward peace at least.” “That can never be,” said Fanny, resolutely. “Do not hope for it. They will never let you and your fortune go without a struggle. The only thing to do is to get this struggle over at once. Come with us and marry Lennox Kyrle in Vienna. Don’t tell me that you are not brave enough for it! I am sure that you are brave enough for anything.” “Brave enough to face danger--yes,” said Aimée, simply, “but not brave enough to face struggle, pain, bitterness--” “But you must face all those things if you remain with them, unless you buy peace by giving up Lennox Kyrle. For--do not deceive yourself--they will never consent to your marrying him; and if you are resolved to do it, you must at last leave them in a more unpleasant manner than this which I propose. Now, there is not the slightest difficulty about it, but if you were alone with them would it be easy? I fear that it might be impossible, and I should not be there to help you.” “It is true,” said Aimée, who was pale and greatly shaken. “It might be necessary hereafter--under worse circumstances.” “It _would_ be necessary, and might be impossible,” said Fanny. “Do you not see? This is the golden opportunity. Ah!”--she rose quickly and ran to the window--“I see some one who will help me.”