Before replying, the count looked attentively at the group before him: at the philosopher's impenetrable countenance; at the chevalier's quizzical and wrinkled brown physiognomy; then at Madame de Rémur's handsome face, and lastly and most tenderly at the drooping eyelids of the delicate Mademoiselle de Belloeil. "She would be twice revered," replied de Blois. Mademoiselle de Belloeil's needle stopped in its click-click. "Why so, monsieur le comte?" inquired the philosopher. "If she has a double motive for the sacrifice, should not the honor of it be only half as great?" "She should receive credit for her loyalty to the husband whom she had sworn to obey, and homage for her devotion to the lover on whom by nature she has placed her affections," replied the count, bowing to Madame de Rémur, while he noted with a certain satisfaction the smile of approval on the lips of Mademoiselle de Belloeil. "And no one has said that she has a lover," declared Madame de Rémur warmly. "Did you not imply as much, dear madame?" asked the old chevalier slyly. "I intimated that she might have had one--if--let us change the subject. I move that the poet read us his latest verses. I am dying for some amusement." "Ladies and gentlemen," cried the old chevalier, clapping his hands together to attract the attention of all those in the room, "this brilliant young author and poet, who needs no introduction to you, has consented to read his latest production. Will you kindly take places?" There was some polite applause. "The poem! let us hear the poem," buzzed upon all sides, and the throng began to settle down around the poet, the ladies occupying the chairs, and the gentlemen either leaning against the walls or seated upon stools by the side of those ladies in whose eyes they found particular favor. In a few moments a hush of expectancy fell upon an audience delighted at the prospect of being entertained. "This is a play in verse," began the poet, taking a roll of manuscript from his pocket. "A play! how charming," said Mademoiselle de Belloeil. "It is in three acts," continued the author. "Act first, in the prison of the Luxembourg, where the young people first meet and fall deeply in love." A rustle of approval ran through his audience. "Act second is in the prison yard where they are separated, she being set at liberty and he conducted to the guillotine." "Oh, how terrible!" murmured the young damsel. "One moment, monsieur le poëte," said Madame de Rémur. "How does it end? I warn you that I shall not like your play if it ends unhappily." "You shall judge of that in a moment, madame," replied the poet, bowing to her graciously. "In the third act," he continued, "the lovers are brought together under the shadow of the guillotine, whither she has followed him. The knife falls upon both of them in quick succession, and their souls are united in the next world, never to be separated more."