dear Eugenie."

The image of Zibeline passed before the eyes of the actress. That which
Desvanneaux had revealed, in accusing the girl of debauchery, now
appeared plausible to her, if considered in another way.

"You are about to marry!" she exclaimed.

They were the same words pronounced by Fanny Dorville in similar
circumstances.

"Never! You know that well enough!" he replied, in his turn.

"Speak, then!" said she, sinking upon a chair and motioning him to a
seat before her.

He obeyed, and sitting so far forward upon his chair that his knees
touched her skirt, he took both her hands in his own, and said gently:

"You know how much I love you, and how much I esteem you. You know, too,
the story of my life: my past follies, and also the honorable career I
have run in order to atone for them morally, for in a material sense they
are irreparable--according to my ideas, at least. This career has been
fortunate. I have reached the highest rank that a soldier can attain to-
day. But my rapid promotion, however justifiable it may be, has none the
less awakened jealousy. The nature of my services being above all
possibility of suspicion, calumny has sought another quarter at which to
strike, and at this moment it is my delicacy which is impugned."

"Your delicacy, Henri! What do you mean?" asked Eugenie, in an altered