promises, but as to marrying you--never, never!'"

"May I ask you to repeat that?" broke in Madame Rapally,

"Oh! I know what I am saying. You will never be Madame Quennebert."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Jealousy has eaten away whatever brains you used to possess, Trumeau.
Since I saw you last, cousin, important changes have taken place: I was
just going to send you to-day an invitation to my wedding."

"To your wedding?"

"Yes; I am to be married to-morrow."

"To-morrow? To Quennebert?" stammered Trumeau.

"To Quennebert," repeated the widow in a tone of triumph.

"It's not possible!" exclaimed Trumeau.

"It is so possible that you will see us united tomorrow. And for the
future I must beg of you to regard Quennebert no longer as a rival but as
my husband, whom to offend will be to offend me."

The tone in which these words were spoken no longer left room for doubt
as to the truth of the news. Trumeau looked down for a few moments, as