"He!" A light flashed upon the brow of Madame de Piennes. For a moment her cheeks were the colour of scarlet, and her voice died upon her lips; but she quickly regained her serenity.

"You are mistaken, my dear child," she said in a grave tone. "M. de Salligny understands that he did wrong to awaken memories which are happily far from your recollection. You have forgotten——"

"Forgotten," cried Arsène, with a smile of the damned, which was pitiful to see.

"Yes, Arsène, you have renounced all of those foolish ideas of a time which will never return. Think, my poor child, it is to that sinful intimacy that you owe all of your misfortunes. Think——"

"He does not love you!" interrupted Arsène without listening to her, "he does not love you, and he understands a mere look! I saw your eyes and his, I am not deceived. In fact—it is just! You are beautiful, young, brilliant. I maimed, disfigured—nigh unto death——"

She could not finish. Sobs choked her voice, so strong, so painful, that the nurse cried that she would go for the doctor; for, she said, the doctor feared nothing so much as these convulsions, and if that were to continue the poor dear would die.