He had read and reread these words, during the brief interval he had to wait, before he heard a light footstep approaching the door of the room. The door opened, and Pauline Corsi stood before him. Another moment, and she was clasped in the stranger's arms. "Pauline," he exclaimed, "my beloved, my darling, what magic is this? How is it, that after thirteen weary years I find you here in America?" "Because I came hither to see you, Armand! But tell me, before I say another word, have you been to France during the past thirteen years?" "Seven years ago I was in Paris--seven years ago I returned to my native country, wealthy and distinguished, to fling all at the feet of her, whom I dared to hope might still be faithful. A bitter blow awaited me on my arrival." "Stay, Armand," said Pauline, laying her hand lightly upon her lover's lips; "tell me all, as it occurred from the first." She pointed to a sofa and seated herself by the side of Armand Tremlay. Upon a table near her lay the bridal wreaths, which were to be worn by herself and Camillia. The Frenchman perceived the floral coronets, and asked eagerly: "These orange blossoms, Pauline, for whom are they intended?" "You shall know that by-and-by," she answered, with an arch smile; "not another word, until I have heard your story." An observer would have wondered at the transformation which the presence of Armand Tremlay effected in Pauline Corsi. She was no longer the cold and ambitious woman, but a loving and gentle girl, with the tender light of affection beaming in her blue eyes. "Tell me," she repeated; "tell me all, Armand!" "You remember the day upon which the Duke B---- dismissed me from his house." "Remember it," answered Pauline, "I have good reason to remember it. That day was the turning point of my life." "And of mine. Reckless and desperate, I strode through the streets of Paris, with my breast rent with contending love and hatred. Love for you, hatred for the conventionalities of rank, which elevated an insurmountable barrier between genius and beauty; for I felt that I had genius, energy, and patience, to conquer fortune--all the gifts which help to make men great, and which the haughty lordling dare not despise, since they are the root of all aristocracies. The very air of France seemed hateful to me, for I despised a country in which the differences of rank could part those whom Heaven had created for each other. I sailed for America, determined that in a free country I would attain such eminence as might entitle me to sue for the hand of a duke's daughter. So enraged was I against the fate which had separated us, that I threw aside my old name, and whatever small degree of distinction might be attached to it, and called myself Forester Townshend." "And it was thus that my search for you was fruitless," said Pauline; "but go on."