Suddenly the rustling of a woman's dress fell on Jenő's listening ear, and in another moment Alfonsine entered his room. She had run away from the company below and had hurried up alone to her lover. She seemed agitated, and her coming had apparently been a sudden impulse. Falling on Jenő's bosom and embracing him, she burst out with every sign of passionate emotion: "They want to part us!" "Who?" asked Jenő, no little disturbed by the other's manner. "They, they!" cried she, half choked with emotion, and bursting into tears, while she clasped her lover still more closely. Jenő's agitation increased; he became thoroughly alarmed. "For heaven's sake, Alfonsine," he begged, "do be cautious! Rideghváry is likely to come in at any moment, and what if he found you here?" Poor, kind-hearted youth, more careful of his sweetheart's good name than she herself! "Oh, he won't come yet," she made haste to assure him. "He and mamma are having a talk, and they have decided that you must return to your lodging at once,--that you are not to stay here a day longer. Oh, I know what that means; we are to be parted for ever." Jenő was on the point of fainting; each word from his sweetheart's lips struck him with dismay. Meanwhile she continued her passionate outburst. "I will not be separated from you!" she declared. "I am yours, yours for ever, yours in life and in death, your beloved, your wife, ready to sacrifice all for you, to suffer all!" At length she recovered her composure somewhat, and, lifting her tearful eyes to heaven, breathed a solemn vow: "To you, my friend, my lover, my all, to you or to the grave I dedicate myself. No power on earth shall tear me from you. For your sake I will leave kith and kin, abjure my faith, disown the mother who bore me, if they stand in the way of our happiness. For you I will go into exile and wander over the earth as a homeless beggar. Whatever your destiny,--be it life or be it death,--I will share it." The exaltation of the moment quite robbed Jenő of his last bit of reason. Was it all a dream, or was it reality, he asked himself. Neither one nor the other, dear Jenő, but an excellent bit of play-acting. Poor credulous youth! It is all a part of a well-laid and far-reaching plot, of which you are the innocent victim. After leaving her lover, Alfonsine did not return to the drawing-room, but hastened to her maid's chamber, where she learned that Sister Remigia was waiting for her in her room. First removing, with Betty's help, the traces of her scene with Jenő, Alfonsine hurried to meet the nun. "Is Major Palvicz here?" she demanded. "No," answered the sister; "he only returned yesterday from his pursuit of Captain Baradlay, whom he failed to overtake." "Did he send an answer to my letter?" "Yes; there it is." Sister Remigia handed Alfonsine a note, and then crossed the corridor to Antoinette's room.