What resolve? Of the two she was undoubtedly the most agitated and least under control. Her long white lace robe lent a sickly hue to her face, already drawn and haggard by the trouble she had lately undergone. There had been no necessity for her to pencil her eyes--a custom practised by actresses of the drawing-room as well as by those of the stage--nor of studying the movement with which, at sight of René, she brought her hand to her heart and leant against the wall for support. At the first glance she saw that she had a hard battle to fight, and she feared the result. There fell upon the two lovers one of those spells of silence so awful in their solemnity that in them we seem to hear the flight of destiny! The silence became unbearable to the unhappy woman, and she broke it by saying in a low tone, 'René, how you have made me suffer!' Then, rushing forward in her mad state of agitation, she took hold of his two hands, and, throwing herself upon him, sought his lips for a kiss. But he had the strength to shake her off. 'No,' he said, 'I won't.' Wringing her hands, she cried in distress, 'Then you still believe in those vile suspicions! You did not come, and you condemned me unheard! What proofs had you? That you saw me leave a certain house! Not a single doubt in my favour--not one out of twenty suppositions that might have pleaded for me! What if I tell you that a friend of mine living in that house was ill, and that I had been to call on her? What if I tell you that the presence of the other person whose sight drove you mad was due to the same cause? Shall I swear it by all I hold most sacred, by----' 'Don't swear,' exclaimed René in harsh tones, 'I shouldn't believe you--I don't believe you.' 'He does not believe me even now--my God! What shall I do?' She paced up and down the room, repeating, What shall I do? What shall I do?' During the whole of that week she had been tormented by the thought that he might be so thoroughly exasperated as not to believe her. If but a single suspicion were left him she was lost. He would follow her again or have her watched. He would know that she met Desforges every time she visited her imaginary friend, and the whole thing would begin over again. What, then, was the use of going on with her lies? She had had enough of it all. Now that her heart was stirred by the sincerest of passions she felt a desire to tell her lover the truth--the whole truth, and, while telling him, to convince him of the depth of her love. He must be made to hear the cry that came from her heart, and made to believe it. Almost beside herself, she commenced her story. 'It is true--I lied to you. You want to know all--you shall know all.'