Madame de Pompadour ceased her fanning and turned her head languidly as they were ushered across the room and presented. The Marquis de Flourens, who had come with them, was also presented. He paid his respects, and then immediately withdrew to one side, and was absorbed in the little group of those in waiting. Madame reached out her hand to Céleste. "Come hither, my child, and let me look at you," said she. Céleste came timidly forward, and Madame de Pompadour took her by the hand. She drew her down until the girl kneeled upon the floor beside the sofa. The poor sick woman looked long and earnestly into her young face. "You are beautiful, you are young, you are happy," she murmured. "You are happy, are you not?" [Illustration: "SHE DREW HER DOWN UNTIL THE GIRL KNEELED UPON THE FLOOR BESIDE HER."] "Yes," answered Céleste, in a whisper. "And you love Monsieur de Monnière-Croix?" "Yes," whispered Céleste again, and her voice thrilled. Madame de Pompadour fetched a little half-sigh, which faded to a smile before it had left her lips. "Ah!" said she, "it is the young who are happy." Then, after a moment's pause, "Will you kiss me, child?" Céleste bent forward, and her fresh young innocent lips met those others--so soiled, so wan and faded. It was all as effectively done as anything upon the boards of the Comédie Française. Madame de Pompadour turned with a smile, and beckoned to Oliver. "Come, Monsieur Count," said she, "your place should be here beside your lady;" and she motioned to him to kneel beside Céleste. Oliver saw the ladies and gentlemen who stood around smile. He was embarrassed; he blushed like a school-boy; but there was nothing for him to do but to kneel. Céleste saw his confusion, and furtively reached out her little hand and gave his an encouraging squeeze. Madame de Pompadour saw it and smiled. Yes, it certainly was Arcadian. At that moment another arrival was announced, "Monsieur the Count de St. Germaine!" Now and then the name of the Count de St. Germaine, and the story of his strange doings, reached even to the paradise of the lovers. Occasionally Oliver heard a breath of these things, and when he heard it he trembled--the breath was sinister and smelt from the pit. But he was not troubled for long at a time; his cockle floated gayly along the stream of fateful happiness; he was too absorbed in his love-dreams to burden his thoughts with the fear of being overwhelmed in the dark waters upon which that cockle swam. Nevertheless, the name, falling so unexpectedly upon Oliver's ears, came with a certain shock of dread. He bent his head as he kneeled, and for a time did not dare to look around. The new-comer came forward with the well-assured air of a favorite. Oliver could feel him coming nearer and nearer. "Rise, my children," said Madame de Pompadour. And as they obeyed, she presented Oliver to the other. "Monsieur de St. Germaine," said she, "let me present to you Monsieur de Monnière-Croix."