But the very next moment he became a prey to the bitterest discouragement. He thought that perhaps Mlle. Lucienne might have some capital interest in thus making a confidant of him. She had not told him the explanation given her by the peace-officer. Had she not, perhaps, succeeded in lifting a corner of the veil which covered the secret of her birth? Was she on the track of her enemies? and had she discovered the motive of their animosity? “Is it possible,” thought Maxence, “that I should be but one of the powers in the game she is playing? How do I know, that, if she wins, she will not cast me off?” In the midst of these thoughts, he had gradually fallen asleep, murmuring to the last the name of Lucienne. The creaking of his opening door woke him up suddenly. He started to his feet, and met Mlle. Lucienne coming in. “How is this?” said she. “You did not go to bed?” “You recommended me to reflect,” he replied. “I’ve been reflecting.” He looked at his watch: it was twelve o’clock. “Which, however,” he added, “did not keep me from going to sleep.” All the doubts that besieged him at the moment when he had been overcome by sleep now came back to his mind with painful vividness. “And not only have I been sleeping,” he went on, “but I have been dreaming too.” Mlle. Lucienne fixed upon him her great black eyes. “Can you tell me your dream?” she asked. He hesitated. Had he had but one minute to reflect, perhaps he would not have spoken; but he was taken unawares. “I dreamed,” he replied, “that we were friends in the noblest and purest acceptance of that word. Intelligence, heart, will, all that I am, and all that I can,--I laid every thing at your feet. You accepted the most entire devotion, the most respectful and the most tender that man is capable of. Yes, we were friends indeed; and upon a glimpse of love, never expressed, I planned a whole future of love.” He stopped. “Well?” she asked. “Well, when my hopes seemed on the point of being realized, it happened that the mystery of your birth was suddenly revealed to you. You found a noble, powerful, and wealthy family. You resumed the illustrious name of which you had been robbed; your enemies were crushed; and your rights were restored to you. It was no longer Van Klopen’s hired carriage that stopped in front of the Hotel des Folies, but a carriage bearing a gorgeous coat of arms. That carriage was yours; and it came to take you to your own residence in the Faubourg St. Germain, or to your ancestral manor.” “And yourself?” inquired the girl. Maxence repressed one of those nervous spasms which frequently break out in tears, and, with a gloomy look,