"Nay, Mademoiselle Corsi," interposed Paul, who could not understand the Frenchwoman's desire to see him alone, "you can have nothing to say which this man may not hear. Speak freely; I have no secrets." "But perhaps I have," answered Pauline. "See, monsieur," she added, extending her plump little hand, upon one finger of which there sparkled a superb diamond ring, "tell me what you think of those diamonds." Paul Lisimon started, for he recognized the ring. It was one he had often seen Camillia wear. The French governess had been sent to him, then, by the devoted girl? "They are magnificent stones, are they not, monsieur?" repeated Pauline, still addressing the officer. "They are, mademoiselle." "The ring is worth eight hundred dollars, and it is yours for eight minutes private conversation with the prisoner." "Impossible, mademoiselle." "Eight hundred dollars for eight minutes. That is at the rate of a hundred dollars a minute." "True, mademoiselle," replied the officer, "but if in those eight minutes my prisoner should take it into his head to jump out of that window, I am a ruined man." "I pledge you my honor I will make no attempt to escape!" said Paul, eagerly. The officer reflected for a few moments, and then looking searchingly into the face of the young Mexican, he said, energetically, "I have known many a gentleman pledge his word and break it as if it was a bit of cracked china; but our profession teaches us to reckon up a man by the cut of his phiz, and I think you're an honorable man, M. Lisimon, and I don't think you guilty of this business that's brought against you, so give me the ring, mademoiselle," he added, holding out his hand for the valuable trinket. "I'll step outside and wait while you say what you've got to say." He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Pauline and the Mexican together. "Paul Lisimon, I came to save you," said Mademoiselle Corsi. "You come from Camillia?" "No; I come of my own accord. That ring is Camillia's; she gave it to me at my request, as a bribe for your jailer." "Noble girl!" "Ay, noble girl!" exclaimed the Frenchwoman, bitterly; "because she gave one from the costly heaps of jewels her foolish father has lavished upon her; but I, whose brain devised the plan, deserve no word of praise." "Pardon me, Mademoiselle Corsi, believe me I am not ungrateful." "Paul Lisimon," said Pauline, fixing her limpid blue eyes upon the face of the Mexican, "you love Camillia Moraquitos?" "Love her--" "Nay, why seek to dissemble? Do you think I have not read your shallow secret from the very first? You sought to blind and hoodwink me, but I laughed at the pitiful deception. Paul, tell me, is this love a lasting one?" "Since you know my secret," replied the Mexican, "concealment is useless. It is a lasting love--eternal as yonder blue heaven." "Foolish boy. Then ruin and destruction will track your footsteps." "Ruin! Through my love?"