for I saw the unmistakable outline of the old maid’s gaunt figure behind her. I whistled again, very low, another bar from the same song, and was rewarded by seeing mademoiselle leave the window quickly, to go, as I knew, to the postern. She reached it almost as quickly as I did, and admitted me in silence, after first assuring herself that there had been no mistake. She carried a light in her hand, and fastening the door behind me, put her finger on her lip, and then signed to me to follow her. Stepping very cautiously, she preceded me up the stairs into the room where I had first surprised them. Zénaïde was still standing by the window, and at my entrance, took a few steps forward, and greeted me with an air of some reserve. I saw that she was very pale, and her eyes were strangely brilliant. Mademoiselle Eudoxie closed the door, and bolting it with the manner of a conspirator, set her light down beside the one on the table. Zénaïde made a movement as if to leave the room; but mademoiselle looked at her so reproachfully that she paused and stood irresolute. I broke the ice at once. “I saw the signal, mademoiselle,” I said, “and responded immediately. You are in trouble?” “The greatest!” ejaculated mademoiselle, clasping her hands and looking at Zénaïde. “The worst has happened!” “M. de Brousson does not understand you, mademoiselle,” Zénaïde said gently; and then she turned to me, the color rising on her cheeks until she was no longer pale but sweetly confused. “The worst, M. le Vicomte, means simply that my uncle is determined to compel me to marry Viatscheslav Naryshkin to-morrow morning.” “And she says that she will kill herself rather than marry a man whom she does not love!” put in mademoiselle, tearfully. My eyes sought Zénaïde’s, and hers fell, the color sweeping up to her fair hair. In a moment I felt that the room was transformed, and no longer considered either the difficulty or the peril of the situation; I was moved out of myself. We were both so silent that mademoiselle stood looking from one to the other, with a growing terror on her thin features; and it seemed to me that those ecstatic little curls of hers danced in sympathy with her affrighted heart-beats. “What can we do?” she exclaimed tremulously. “If Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky is willing to be guided by my counsel, I think I can suggest a way to evade this trouble,” I said, with a little hesitation, trying quickly to decide on the wiser of two courses. Zénaïde, having recovered her composure, turned to me with something of her natural manner. “I am in too great straits to refuse any one’s advice, monsieur,” she said gently; “my uncle is an inflexible man, and I can expect no mercy at his hands--and surely none from Naryshkin,” she added with a gesture of contempt. “Tell us what to do!” cried mademoiselle, hysterically, before I could reply; the poor soul was beside herself with terror.