Madeline was feverish. Now that the time was passing so quickly, the thought of her coming interview weighed upon her; but, having made the appointment, she was bound to keep it, or gravely compromise herself. She drew aside her window curtain and looked out. It was a fair still night, but growing every hour still colder. She rang for her maid, and with her assistance took off her dinner dress, and clad herself in one of the plainest costumes she possessed. When she was dressed, ready to depart, she said-- ‘Remember, Augustine, my going out to-night is a secret both from my mother and Monsieur Belleisle. If they ask for me, say that I am still unwell, and have retired early to rest.’ Before the girl, who was doubtless in Belleisle’s confidence, could reply or interfere, Madeline had hurried from the room, and was in the open street. The place of meeting was only a few minutes distant from the hotel where she was dwelling; she reached it just as the clock struck nine. As she entered the door she saw a gentleman standing with his back towards her--the only other living being in the great vestibule. Madeline approached him, questioningly. ‘Monsieur?’ He turned with an exclamation--she recoiled. The eyes looking so steadily into hers belonged to a face which she remembered well. She was face to lace with the young Englishman whom she had met on the night of her elopement from school. CHAPTER XVI.--‘WHICH DO YOU PITY?’ Dismayed at the unexpected encounter, Madeline gazed at the Englishman for a time in speechless confusion; then she turned her head and gazed helplessly around. ‘Mademoiselle,’ said the young man, quietly, ‘I fear you are not prepared for this meeting with me. Well, let me tell you I am here on an errand of duty, not pleasure. My friend, the Marquis de Vaux, has placed this affair entirely in my hands-----------’ ‘Oh, Monsieur!’ ‘Pray do not interrupt me, Mademoiselle. I have little to say, so our interview can be brief--it will be better for us both. I had the pleasure of meeting you once before--only once, when I offered you my assistance, because I feared you needed some one to pluck you from the clutches of that Frenchman, in whose company you were staying at the hotel. But when I offered you my help I thought you were some pure-minded, misguided English girl. I did not know that you were the mistress of a scoundrel, and that you were making your way to Paris to become the decoy for a gambling hell.’ ‘Monsieur! monsieur!’