“I mounted the stairs rapidly, and entered the room where the fire was burning; it was used as a chemist’s laboratory, and in making I know not what experiments, an inflammable liquid had been spilled, which had ignited the floor.  When I entered, the fire was almost got under.  I looked at the man; a dreadful scar disfigured his cheek, and another his forehead; the rest of his face was hidden by a thick beard.  ’I thank you, monsieur,’ said he; ’but you see all is finished now; if you are as gallant a man as you seem, have the goodness to retire, for my mistress may return at any moment, and will be angry if she sees a stranger here.’

“The sound of his voice struck me instantly.  I was about to cry, ’You are the man of La Gypecienne—­of the Rue de Lesdiguieres!’ for you remember that I had not seen his face before, but only heard his voice, when suddenly a door opened, and a woman entered.  ’What is the matter, Remy, and why this noise?’ she asked.  Oh! my brother, it was she! more beautiful than ever, by the dying light of the fire.  It was she!—­the woman whose memory had ever lived in my heart.  At the cry which I uttered the servant looked narrowly at me.  ‘Thanks, monsieur,’ said he, again; ‘you see the fire is out; go, I beg of you.’

“‘My friend,’ said I, ‘you dismiss me very rudely.’  ‘Madame,’ said he, ‘it is he.’  ‘Who?’ ’The young man we met in the garden, and who followed us home.’  She turned toward me and said, ‘Monsieur, I beg of you to go.’  I hesitated; I wished to speak, but my words failed me.  I remained motionless and mute, gazing at her.  ‘Take care, monsieur,’ said the servant, sadly; ‘you will force her to fly again.’  ‘Heaven forbid!’ cried I; ‘but how do I offend you, madame?’ She did not reply; insensible, mute, and cold, as though she had not heard me, she turned, and I saw her disappear gradually in the shade.”

“And is that all?”

“All; the servant led me to the door, saying, ’Forget, monsieur, I beg of you.’  I fled, bewildered and half crazy, and since then I have gone every evening to this street, and, concealed in the angle of the opposite house, under the shade of a little balcony, I see, once in ten times, a light in her room:  that is my life, my happiness.”

“What happiness!”

“Alas!  I should lose this, if I tried for more.”

“But in acting thus, you lose all the amusements of the world.”

“My brother,” said Henri, with a sad smile, “I am happy thus.”

“Not so, mordieu!  One monk in a family is enough.”

“No railleries, brother.”

“But let me say one thing!”

“What is it?”

“That you have been taken in like a schoolboy.”

“I am not taken in; I only gave way to a power stronger than mine.  When a current carries you away, you cannot fight against it.”

“But if it lead to an abyss?”

“You must be swallowed up!”

“Do you think so?”