"Madame," she cried at last, mournfully, "I suppose, then, I must go; but
it tears my heart to leave you and dear Miss Rhoda. I would be very happy
if, before departing, you would permit me, dear madame, once more to
assure Mr. Marston of my innocence, and, in his presence, to call heaven
to witness how unjust are all his suspicions."

"Do so, mademoiselle, and I will add my earnest assurances again; though,
heaven knows," she said, despondingly, "I anticipate little success; but
it is well to leave no chance untried."

Marston was sitting, as we have said, in his library. His agitation had
given place to a listless gloom, and he leaned back in his chair, his
head supported by his hand, and undisturbed, except by the occasional
fall of the embers upon the hearth. There was a knock at the chamber
door. His back was towards it, and, without turning or moving, he called
to the applicant to enter. The door opened--closed again: a light tread
was audible--a tall shadow darkened the wall: Marston looked round, and
Mademoiselle de Barras was standing before him. Without knowing how or
why, he rose, and stood gazing upon her in silence.

"Mademoiselle de Barras!" he said, at last, in a tone of cold surprise.

"Yes, poor Mademoiselle de Barras," replied the sweet voice of the
young Frenchwoman, while her lips hardly moved as the melancholy tones
passed them.

"Well, mademoiselle, what do you desire?" he asked, in the same cold
accents, and averting his eyes.