"Of whom am I speaking? Of M. de Fosseux to be sure. What other man could be capable of a similar crime--of such base perfidy? Do you imagine it to be possible that there can be in the world two men so heartless--so utterly devoid of honor?" "No, Eugenie," exclaimed I again; "No! I will never abandon you--_never_----" "And who is talking of _you_, marquis?" retorted she sharply; "I am speaking of M. de Fosseux." I could not believe my eyes; my ears, too, nay all my senses seemed in combination to deceive me. I would have given all I was worth for some of the servants to enter and dissolve the spell. "I am speaking to you of M. de Fosseux," repeated she. "Do you remember, marquis, the day--or rather the night--on which we met for the first time? _That_ man dead at my feet--myself stretched in the gory mire of the Place Beauveau--the dagger yet in the dead man's breast--the blood with which I was covered--my cries, my tears, my bruised neck, my torn ears, my story of two robbers, my swoons, my sobs.... Do you remember all this, marquis? Well, then, 'TWAS I--'TWAS I, I tell you!" At these last words I uttered a loud cry, and was about to rush out of the room, but she held me fast. "'Twas I, I tell you; _alone_ I struck the traitor, and here are my proofs." "Saying this, she opened her hands, and shook her dress, when brilliant buckles, a necklace of rubies, diamond rings, and a gold watch, rolled glittering on the floor, and seemed to hem me in on all sides with their sparkling points, whilst in the midst of these bloody relics lay a letter, which I instantly recognized as my mother's! "Mr. D----," said the old man to me--who was motionless, and scarcely dared to draw my breath--"I have been an old soldier, and, thank God! was never looked upon as a coward; many is the time I have boldly faced danger, and have, too, exposed my life through mere fool-hardiness; but a man may have courage, yet not all kinds of courage; I was frightened, Mr. D----; the blood rushed to my head, my hair stood on end, my temples throbbed audibly, and I fell senseless on the floor." When I came to myself (continued M. de Marigny) I found myself in bed; a copious bleeding had removed all immediate danger, and I seemed as though awaking out of a troubled sleep, in which I had been haunted by some fearful dream. Mademoiselle d'Ermay was at my side, with her sweet countenance, her words of love, and her tender and affectionate looks, and held both my hands in hers. Tears were stealing down her fair cheeks, and as soon as I opened my eyes she threw herself into my arms. "Oh! chevalier," said she, "what an alarm you have caused me! Cruel man! to go into your own room without saying you were ill, and remain there alone and without help! Oh, my friend! however troublesome you may think me, I will never leave you again--I will follow you even into your study; but, my dear chevalier, I hope you will believe me in future."