I was preparing, to go to the Luxembourg, where I expected to meet Irene, when I received a note from Madame de Fersen, asking me to call on her about two o'clock. Since her arrival in Paris I had never met her alone. To what should I attribute the wish she expressed? To her desire to see me? To her secret vexation at the rumours spread regarding my intimacy with Madame de V----? Catherine might think these rumours well founded, since she had surprised me alone with Madame de V---- at the concert at Lord P----'s house. I could not say, but I waited for our interview with restless happiness and irresistible agitation. I was going to see Catherine once more, to see her alone! At this thought my heart beat with hope and ecstasy at last; a word from her would reward me for my self-denial, for the generous sacrifice I had made, for the assiduous cares to which her beloved child almost owed her return to health. From this interview I would draw fresh strength to devote myself still further; and then, I had so much to say to her! I felt so proud of my love, so happy to feel my heart still young enough to appreciate the pure joys which enchanted me; to feel that confidence in the strength, in the sincerity, of my attachment which enabled me to hope that some day my love would be reciprocated. At the appointed hour, I went to Madame de Fersen's. She received me in a small parlour which she usually occupied, but which I had not yet seen. "What a long time since I have seen you!" I cried with effusion as I held out my hand. Madame de Fersen coldly gave me hers, and answered: "I believe I had the pleasure of seeing you last night at the Variétés, monsieur." "You call that seeing one another!" I replied, with sad astonishment. "Ah, I was right when I feared that the 'conversations of the saloon' would soon be forgotten by you!" "I shall never forget our pleasant voyage," answered Madame de Fersen, in the same cold tone. "I am greatly obliged to you for the trouble you have taken in coming to see me this morning. I wish to thank you a thousand times, monsieur, for your kindness in yielding to my daughter's capricious fancies. She is now quite well, and I fear-- I do not wish any longer to take advantage of your goodness towards her, monsieur." Madame de Fersen's tone was icy, almost scornful. What she said seemed so true, so natural, so little influenced by resentment, that I was thunderstruck. I suffered horribly, and could find no word of reply. My silence was so marked, that Madame de Fersen found herself obliged to add, very coldly: "I doubtless appear to you very ungrateful, monsieur?" "Madame," I said, with deep emotion, "I do not know how I have deserved such a reception." "And what claim have you to a different reception from me?" proudly inquired Madame de Fersen.