"Very wretched, truly! You came here overwhelmed, despairing, reproaching yourself for your harshness to your mother, forgetting all that a man like you should never forget. I calm you, console you, offer you the means of at once conciliating your mother's wishes and our interests." "Yes, yes, you are right. Pardon,--I came here with bad thoughts,--you made me blush, and have again raised me in my own esteem,--you have recalled me to my honour, my plighted word, and my duty to my mother. Thanks, thanks; you are right,--why should we think of to-morrow, when the present hour is so happy? Thanks for coming so immediately when I wrote you that I was overwhelmed by anguish and despair. But now I feel inspired with strength and hope,--my heart beats high: you have saved my life, my honour,--my courage recovers its temper in the fire of your love. I feel I am beloved! I shut my eyes,--I allow myself to be guided by you,--order and I obey, I have no longer any will of my own,--I intrust to you the fate of that love, which is my sole--your sole existence." "Yes, my sole existence!" exclaimed Madame de Hansfeld, with repressed excitement. "Have implicit confidence in me, and you will see what a woman can do who loves. Write me to-morrow about your mother, and in a week you shall know my secret. Until then, except the letter I request, mind not a word--this I exact." "Not a word! and why?" "You shall know,--but promise me what I request, for the sake of our mutual love." "I do promise." "Now, then, adieu." "Already?" "It must be so. Am I not very imprudent to be here at all?" [Illustration 16: "Adieu, then, Paula--your hand,--one kiss--but one!"] "Adieu, then, Paula. Your hand,--one kiss--but one!" "Your oath! your oath!" said Paula, resuming her mask, and refusing to take off her glove. She left the box, passed through the crowd, and quitted the theatre. Iris awaited her in a hackney-coach as before. During their drive home, Madame de Hansfeld was gloomy and silent. She entered the Hôtel Lambert by the small secret door, and went to her apartments, accompanied by Iris. Paula's impassioned love for De Morville was at its height,--she felt herself capable of the most desperate determinations--her reason nearly wandered. She feared, above all, that De Morville, in spite of his repugnance for the marriage which was proposed for him, would yield to the solicitations of his dying mother. He might, perhaps, gain some time, but in a week all would be decided for Paula. Iris, seeing the sombre pre-occupation of her mistress, guessed its cause, and said to her, after a protracted silence, pointing to a long gold pin set with turquoises, and standing in a pincushion covered with lace,--