Jeanne had turned away her eyes from him. He could feast his on her now. She had become more beautiful. The tone of her complexion had become warmer. Her figure had developed. Serge longed to call her his own. For a moment his hands trembled; his throat was dry, his heart seemed to stop beating. He tried to shake off this attraction, and walked to the centre of the room. At the same time visitors were announced. Le Bride, with his inseparable friend, Du Tremblay, escorting Lady Harton, Serge's beautiful cousin, who had caused Micheline some anxiety on the day of her marriage, but whom she no longer feared; then the Prince and Princess Odescalchi, Venetian nobles, followed by Monsieur Clement Souverain, a young Belgian, starter of the Nice races, a great pigeon shot, and a mad leader of cotillons. "Oh, dear me! my lady, all in black?" said Micheline, pointing to the tight-fitting black satin worn by the English beauty. "Yes, my dear Princess; mourning," replied Lady Harton, with a vigorous shake of the hands. "Ball-room mourning--one of my best partners; gentlemen, you know Harry Tornwall?" "Countess Alberti's cavalier?" added Serge. "Well?" "Well! he has just killed himself." A concert of exclamations arose in the drawing-room, and the visitors suddenly surrounded her. "What! did you not know? It was the sole topic of conversation at Monaco to-day. Poor Tornwall, being completely cleared out, went during the night to the park belonging to the villa occupied by Countess Alberti, and blew his brains out under her window." "How dreadful!" exclaimed Micheline. "It was very bad taste on your countryman's part," observed Serge. "The Countess was furious, and said that Tornwall's coming to her house to kill himself proved clearly to her that he did not know how to behave." "Do you wish to prevent those who are cleared out from blowing out their brains?" inquired Cayrol. "Compel the pawnbrokers of Monaco to lend a louis on all pistols." "Well," retorted young Monsieur Souverain, "when the louis is lost the players will still be able to hang themselves." "Yes," concluded Marechal, "then at any rate the rope will bring luck to others." "Gentlemen, do you know that what you have been relating to us is very doleful?" said Suzanne Herzog. "Suppose, to vary our impressions, you were to ask us to waltz?" "Yes, on the terrace," said Le Brede, warmly. "A curtain of orange-trees will protect us from the vulgar gaze." "Oh! Mademoiselle, what a dream!" sighed Du Tremblay, approaching Suzanne. "Waltzing with you! By moonlight." "Yes, friend Pierrot!" sang Suzanne, bursting into a laugh. Already the piano, vigorously attacked by Pierre, desirous of making himself useful since he could not be agreeable, was heard in the next room. Serge had slowly approached Jeanne. "Will you do me the favor of dancing with me?" he asked, softly. The young woman started; her cheeks became pale, and in a sharp tone she answered: