dark fathomless eyes. It then seemed to me that some great inner
force compelled me to answer this half-inquiry, in words of which I
had taken no previous thought, and which, as I uttered them,
conveyed no special meaning to my own ears.

"Of course," I said slowly, as if I were repeating a lesson, "you
would not so betray the high trust committed to your charge."

"Well said!" replied Cellini; "you are fatigued, mademoiselle. Au
revoir! Till to-morrow!" And, throwing open the door of his studio,
he stood aside for me to pass out. I looked at him inquiringly.

"Must I come at the same time to-morrow?" I asked.

"If you please."

I passed my hand across my forehead perplexedly, I felt I had
something else to say before I left him. He waited patiently,
holding back with one hand the curtains of the portiere.

"I think I had a parting word to give you," I said at last, meeting
his gaze frankly; "but I seem to have forgotten what it was."
Cellini smiled gravely.

"Do not trouble to think about it, mademoiselle. I am unworthy the
effort on your part."

A flash of vivid light crossed my eyes for a second, and I exclaimed
eagerly: