perfect that she even stirred the broth, so that the powder might more rapidly dissolve. She next tasted it, and found that it had a slightly bitter flavour--not sufficiently perceptible, however, to awaken distrust. All that now remained was to escape, and she was already walking towards the door when, to her horror, she heard some one coming up the stairs. What should she do? where could she conceal herself? She now felt so sure that she would be detected that she almost decided to throw the contents of the bowl into the fire, and then face the intruders. But no--a chance remained--the dressing-room! She darted into it, without daring, however, to close the door, for the least click of the lock might betray her. Immediately afterwards Marie-Anne entered the apartment, followed by a peasant carrying a large bundle. “Ah! here is my candle!” she exclaimed, as she crossed the threshold. “Joy must be making me lose my wits! I could have sworn that I left it on the table down-stairs.” Blanche shuddered. She had not thought of this circumstance before. “Where shall I put these clothes?” asked the peasant. “Lay them down here. I will arrange them by and by,” replied Marie-Anne. The youth dropped his heavy burden with a sigh of relief. “That’s the last,” he exclaimed. “Now our gentleman can come.” “At what o’clock will he start?” inquired Marie-Anne. “At eleven. It will be nearly midnight when he gets here.” Marie-Anne glanced at the magnificent timepiece on the mantelshelf. “I have still three hours before me,” said she; “more time than I need. Supper is ready, I am going to set the table here by the fire. Tell him to bring a good appetite with him.” “I won’t forget, mademoiselle; thank you for having come to meet me. The load wasn’t so very heavy, but it was awkward to handle.” “Won’t you take a glass of wine?” “No, thanks. I must make haste back, Mademoiselle Lacheneur.” “Good night, Poignot.”