"God grant it!" sighed Dame Joanna. Pulcheria, however, asked the old man what was wrong with him, for his face had suddenly clouded. His cheerfulness had vanished, his tufted eyebrows were raised, and his pinched lips seemed unwilling to part, when at length he reluctantly said: "Nothing--nothing is wrong... At the same time; once for all--I loathe that name." "Paula?" cried the child in astonishment. "Oh! but if you knew. . ." "I know more than enough," interrupted the old man. "I love you all-- all; my old heart expands as I sit in your midst; I am comfortable here, I feel kindly towards you, I am grateful to you; every little attention you show me does me good; for it comes from your hearts: if I could repay you soon and abundantly--I should grow young again with joy. You may believe me, as I can see indeed that you do. And yet," and again his brows went up, "and yet, when I hear that name, and when you try to win me over to that woman, or if you should even go so far as to assail my ears with her praises--then, much as it would grieve me, I would go back again to the place where I came from." "Why, Horapollo, what are you saying?" cried Joanna, much distressed. "I say," the old man went on, "I say that in her everything is concentrated which I most hate and contemn in her class. I say that she bears in her bosom a cold and treacherous heart; that she blights my days and my nights; in short, that I would rather be condemned to live under the same roof with clammy reptiles and cold-blooded snakes than. . ." "Than with her, with Paula?" Mary broke in. The eager little thing sprang to her feet, her eyes flashed lightnings and her voice quivered with rage, as she exclaimed: "And you not only say it but mean it? Is it possible?" "Not only possible, but positive, sweetheart," replied the old man, putting out his hand to take hers, but she shrank back, exclaiming vehemently: "I will not be your sweetheart, if you speak so of her! A man as old as you are ought to be just. You do not know her at all, and what you say about her heart. . ." "Gently, gently, child," the widow put in; and Horapollo answered with peculiar emphasis. "That heart, my little whirlwind!--it would be well for us all if we could forget it, forget it for good or for evil. She has been tried to-day, and that heart is sentenced to cease beating." "Sentenced! Merciful Heaven!" shrieked Pulcheria, and as she started up her mother cried out: "For God's sake do not jest about such things, it is a sin.--Is it true? --Is it possible? Those wretches, those... I see in your face it is true; they have condemned Paula." "As you say," replied Horapollo calmly. "The girl is to be executed." "And you only tell us now?" wept Pulcheria, while Mary broke out: