"Listen to me, my dear young lady," he said. "No one can honour your fidelity to your friend, or respect you for keeping your word so firmly, more than I do; but I swear to you you are acting under a mistake,--a most fatal and lamentable mistake. At all events, I, who am not this lady's husband, cannot injure her--cannot force her to do any thing against her will. Let me see her. I swear to you, if you will, that if she bids me be silent, I will not utter a word; and I will neither follow her nor have her followed. I ask you this, because if you will only do it, you shall see for yourself the error there is in all this, and you will probably be the means of richly rewarding your friend for all she has done for you, by restoring her confidence in her husband." Louise had looked at Charles Yeldham with earnest intentness all the time he was speaking, and the incredulous scorn which had possessed her wholly during the earlier part of their interview began to give way. She dropped her eyes, put her hand to her brow, and thought intently. "I dare not believe you," said she at last; "I dare not listen longer to you, lest I might be persuaded to do Madame Sidney a wrong. So now you must go away. You had better; if you stay here a month, I will tell you no more than this--and it cannot harm her, if her husband, and you too--and perhaps you are her husband--bah, how can I tell?--were ever so wicked and cruel. She is not in Paris. Now go; you shall not got another answer out of me." She rose, and stepped towards the door, as though about to open it for his departure. "Thanks," he exclaimed, "a thousand thanks, even for that information; and, as you say, it could not harm her, if we, who are her devoted servants, desired to do so. Yes," for she had her hand on the latch of the door, "I will leave you immediately; only let me say a few words more." Louise frowned. "I will give you no answer," she said sullenly. "O yes, I think you will, when I have spoken them. If Madame Sidney ever comes back to Paris--I don't ask whether you expect her-- (here he stole a quick glance at her, but she was prepared to meet and conquer it--there was not the smallest change in her face, from its expression of sullen waiting)--but if she comes back, and comes to see you, tell her about my visit; tell her I came from her husband--here is my card. There can be no harm in telling her, you know, and then it will depend on herself--not on you, or on me, but on herself only--whether she will let any one who loves her see her again in this world. You understand me in this, do you not, mademoiselle? You see that I am speaking now what must be the truth, and cannot by possibility deceive any one." Louise appeared to be moved by this direct appeal to her understanding. She took up the card, which he had laid on the table, and read the name aloud.