The former artiste gently disentangled herself from his embrace and, smiling archly, led him to a chair; then she sat down upon another at a short distance from him. "No, no," said Joliette, warmly; "come and sit beside me on the sofa. Even Leon sees that I adore you, and all my friends in Paris are aware that I am seeking your hand in marriage. Why will you be so formal and distant with me!" She arose and did as he requested; Joliette, seated at her side, put his arm about her waist. Louise did not resist, but still maintained an air of coquetry that was displeasing to the ardent young soldier. "Albert," she said, in a low, musical voice, "do you, indeed, love me as you say?" "Love you, Louise!" cried Joliette. "I would lay down my life for you!" "Are you quite sure you love me for myself and not because of the resemblance you say I bear to the woman you once so ardently admired? What was her name?--ah! Eugenie Danglars!" said she, looking at him with a piercing gaze. "Quite sure, Louise, quite sure. Besides, Mlle. Danglars has disappeared, has not been seen or heard of for several years, and, no doubt, is dead." "And yet you do not mourn for her! How strange!" "I never loved her as I love you, Louise. Eugenie Danglars was a capricious and eccentric girl, and had she lived would have been a capricious and eccentric woman. It was well for me she vanished when she did! But, by the way, another singular and inexplicable coincidence is that Louise d'Armilly, the name you bear, was also the name of Mlle. Danglars' music teacher. I cannot understand it at all!" "There is no necessity for you to understand it. Anyhow, it is a coincidence, as you say--nothing more." "Well, Louise, let us speak no further about either the resemblance or the coincidence. Suffice it that I love you, and you alone--that I love you for yourself." "Your words make me very happy, Albert," replied Mlle. d'Armilly, and her full red lips looked so luscious, ripe and alluring, that Joliette could not resist the temptation to bestow a long, burning kiss upon them. "Be my wife, then, dearest Louise," cried the Captain, "and I will prolong your happiness until death shall strike me down!" "Ah! Albert, men are so fickle; they become infatuated with women and declare and, no doubt think, they could pass their lives at their charmers' feet; but possession dulls the lustre of the brightest jewel, and the devoted lover is speedily replaced by a careless, if not faithless husband, who, instead of making his wife happy as he has sworn to do, forsakes her side to bask in the smiles of sirens." "It will never be so with me, my own, my love!" protested Joliette, kissing her again and again. "I swear it."