The simple arrangement of this little room, with dark green walls, only relieved by some engravings and coats of arms, formed a pleasing contrast to Edward’s eyes, after the glaring splendor of the other apartments.  From behind a piano-forte, at which she had been seated in a recess, rose a tall, slender female form, in a white dress of extreme simplicity.

“My love,” said D’Effernay, “I bring you a welcome guest, Lieutenant Wensleben, who is willing to purchase the estate.”

Emily courtesied; the friendly twilight concealed the shudder that passed over her whole frame, as she heard the familiar name which aroused so many recollections.

She bade the stranger welcome, in a low, sweet voice, whose tremulous accents were not unobserved by Edward; and while the husband made some further observation, he had leisure to remark, as well as the fading light would allow, the fair outline of her oval face, the modest grace of her movements, her pretty, nymph-like figure—­in fact, all those charms which seemed familiar to him through the impassioned descriptions of his friend.

“But what can this fancy be, to sit in the dark?” asked D’Effernay, in no mild tone; “you know that is a thing I cannot bear.” and with these words, and without waiting his wife’s answer, he rang the bell over her sofa, and ordered lights.

While these were placed on the table the company sat down by the fire, and conversation commenced.  By the full light Edward could perceive all Emily’s real beauty—­her pale, but lovely face, the sad expression of her large blue eyes, so often concealed by their dark lashes, and then raised, with a look full of feeling, a sad, pensive, intellectual expression; and he admired the simplicity of her dress, and of every object that surrounded her:  all appeared to him to bespeak a superior mind.

They had not sat long, before D’Effernay was called away.  One of his people had something important, something urgent to communicate to him, which admitted of no delay.  A look of fierce anger almost distorted his features; in an instant his thin lips moved rapidly, and Edward thought he muttered some curses between his teeth.  He left the room, but in so doing, he cast a glance of mistrust and ill-temper on the handsome stranger with whom he was compelled to leave his wife alone.  Edward observed it all.  All that he had seen to-day, all that he had heard from his comrades of the man’s passionate and suspicious disposition, convinced him that his stay here would not be long, and that perhaps a second opportunity of speaking alone with Emily might not offer itself.

He determined, therefore, to profit by the present moment; and no sooner had D’Effernay left the room, than he began to tell Emily she was not so complete a stranger to him as it might seem; that long before he had had the pleasure of seeing her—­even before he had heard her name—­she was known to him, so to speak, in spirit.