“Can you doubt it, after what I have said? How could I help loving one so fervent and capricious as you are? It is this youthful folly of yours which pleased me from the beginning. You are so different from those with whom I have hitherto lived. My early life was passed with my old parents, who were very strict and severe with me, in a cold and gloomy house in Milan. Then my husband, though so kind and anxious to please me, could not bring his cold and reasoning habits into harmony with my youth and inexperience. Sorrow and _ennui_ were my daily portion. It seems that I have only awakened to life from this very day, as though I had all my life been like the sleeping princess in the fairy tale. You have appeared before me, and now my eyes open to the light of day, my ears listen to your tender, loving words, and with inexpressible delight I awake to a new birth of happiness.” The most accomplished actress could not have more artfully uttered such ravishing words as these which fell from the lips of the beautiful temptress. Turning aside her face, as though to conceal her blushes, her lithe form seemed to quiver with delight. He, maddened by this confession, and burning with the passion this redoubtable enchantress knew so well how to inspire, dropped his fevered head on Anetta’s shoulder. His reason seemed to leave him as he murmured— “I adore you!” At this moment she turned her head to look at him, perhaps to reply. Their lips met, and united in a burning kiss. Suddenly, above the green expanse of forest, in the midst of the calm in which the peaceful house was wrapped, rose a shout which grew louder and louder, whilst the clang of an alarm-bell could be distinctly heard. Anetta exclaimed— “What is that?” Marcel listened attentively. “It sounds like shouts and cries for help coming from the direction of Ars.” He rushed towards the window, and, already trembling with secret anguish, exclaimed— “It is the alarm-bell! Perhaps the works are on fire! _Mon Dieu_! What can be the matter? You are well aware to what risks we were exposed at Ars, and I am afraid that matters have taken a turn for the worse in my absence.” Madame Vignola opened the door, and called— “Milo.” The servant appeared. Without waiting to be questioned, she said— “There is something wrong at Ars, madame. Bells are ringing, and a black cloud of smoke is rising above the trees. It might be possible to see from the roof.” “I will mount at once!” exclaimed Marcel. “I will follow you. Go with him,” she said to Milona. But instead of keeping her word the young woman entered the small office where she was in the habit of writing her letters, took up a sheet of paper, and traced a few rapid lines. Steps could already be heard on the staircase. Marcel, pale and agitated, appeared before her. “The fire must have caught the works. Oh, Anetta, I have forgotten everything by your side! Good-bye, I must rush off at once.” “Marcel, do not forget that you are mine.”