By this time Mirabeau had disappeared, and the young woman was at a loss to guess which way he had taken. At her left, she saw the roof of St. Cloud rising in irregular glimpses among the embosoming trees. If his business was with the king or queen, she argued, he would take that direction. If he came to seek some meaner object, there was not a tree in the vast Park which might not shelter him and the rival she came to discover. Which way should she go? Not toward the palace; Mirabeau, the orator and friend of the people, would never venture there unless he was, indeed, a traitor to his party, and led on by some passion which in her arrogance she considered as treachery to her. More likely he had sought a building, or covert place in the grounds, where some person connected with the royal household would meet him. Nothing but political or social treason could have brought him there. As the young woman wandered slowly on, meditating in this fashion, a sound of quick footsteps and the rustle of shrubbery startled her. She drew back of a huge tree that stood near and watched for the cause. It was a lady passing swiftly forward, through the purple twilight, her head enveloped in the shadowy blackness of a lace shawl, her dress half uplifted by her right hand, half trailing on the grass—a rich dress that glistened in the light which trembled over it. The lady turned her head and stood still a moment, listening—a slight disturbance in the shrubbery near by seemed to have aroused her apprehension. Louison, concealed behind the tree saw a lovely face and a splendid figure stooping a little, as if arrested in some unlawful or dangerous step. It was but a momentary glance, but she recognized the queen, and the sight threw every passion of her most passionate nature into revolt. “Traitor!” came hissing through her shut teeth; “double-dyed traitor! For that face he will sell us all!” The queen passed on swiftly, moving through the green foliage and the purple atmosphere of the Park like a beautiful spirit. After her, creeping forward like a panther, stole the other woman, her eyes gleaming, her lips in motion. She came in sight of a little temple built on high ground, sheltered under drooping elms; from its windows the last golden light of the day was falling back like a sheaf of broken arrows, and a soft luminous haze quivered among the branches that swept over it. There was too much light for the woman to venture forward, even when she saw the door open, and the person she had followed pass into the temple. Then through the still blazing windows she saw the shadows of two persons standing together. As she looked, they sunk away and disappeared from her eyes; but she was in a position to hear the murmur of voices.—One, deep, sonorous and impressive, the other, clear, low and sweet; but no words uttered by these voices reached her. She could only guess at their meaning, and a vivid imagination lent poison to her conjectures.