“I had thought of that,” she said; “but they would deliver me again to my uncle in the morning, Monsieur.” “True,” I murmured, and I pondered over the problem deeply. Clearly, there was only one thing to be done, but it could hardly fail to compromise her, and I paused. I had need to be very sure of myself. “Mademoiselle,” I said, at last, “you believe me to be a man of honor, do you not?” “Oh, yes,” she answered, and she looked at me and smiled again. “I pray you to believe me so, Mademoiselle,” I continued earnestly. “I am going to assume a brother’s right to protect you. To-morrow, I shall call upon your uncle, and will say a few things to him which I trust will bring him to his senses. But to-night, since you cannot remain in the gardens here, you must pass in my room.” She glanced at me with frightened eyes, but my face reassured her. “Very well, M. le Moyne,” she answered quietly. “As I said before, I believe you to be a man of honor.” I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed it. “I appreciate your trust, Mademoiselle,” I said, “and shall do everything in my power to deserve it.” She glanced at me again and I saw that her eyes were shining. “Come, let us go,” she said, and we arose. “The house I occupy, Mademoiselle,” I explained, as we started away, “is in the Rue du Chantre, and the room is but a poor affair, yet I trust you will find it comfortable. I have been in Paris only a week, and have not yet found better lodgings. In fact,” I added, judging it best to tell her the whole truth at a breath, “my fortune is not a large one, and not knowing how soon I should be able to increase it, I judged it best to husband it as much as possible.” “There, there, Monsieur,” she cried, “do not apologize, I beg of you! You forget that I have no claim upon you and that what you are doing is out of charity, without hope of reward.” A reply leaped to my lips as I looked into her eyes, but I choked it back and we passed through the streets in silence. In my heart I felt a great tenderness for this innocent and confiding creature, who leaned so naturally upon my arm, and who evidently had heretofore gazed upon the world only from a distance, comprehending nothing of what she saw; but I reflected that I, who knew not how to support myself, certainly could not hope to support a wife also, and put the thought behind me. The Rue St. Honoré was crowded as we left the garden and turned into it, and the front of the Palais Royal brilliantly lighted, but every one was occupied with his own affairs and we seemed to be unobserved. Pushing our way through the crowd, we soon reached the Rue du Chantre. The street grew more and more deserted as we left the Rue St. Honoré behind.