this state of affairs. Julie gave Louisa a glance which revealed her
thoughts.

"I have been cruelly obeyed," she cried. "Yet I never forbade him to
write to me. Oh! _he_ has forgotten me, and he is right. If his life
had been spoiled, it would have been too tragical; one life is enough,
is it not? Would you believe it, dear; I read English newspapers
simply to see his name in print. But he has not yet taken his seat in
the House of Lords."

"So you know English."

"Did I not tell you?--Yes, I learned."

"Poor little one!" cried Louisa, grasping Julie's hand in hers. "How
can you still live?"

"That is the secret," said the Marquise, with an involuntary gesture
almost childlike in its simplicity. "Listen, I take laudanum. That
duchess in London suggested the idea; you know the story, Maturin made
use of it in one of his novels. My drops are very weak, but I sleep; I
am only awake for seven hours in the day, and those house I spend with
my child."

Louisa gazed into the fire. The full extent of her friend's misery was
opening out before her for the first time, and she dared not look into
her face.

"Keep my secret, Louisa," said Julie, after a moment's silence.