“But I knew several poor girls, who, on the faith of dazzling promises, had expatriated themselves.  Once abroad, they had been shamefully abandoned, and had been driven, to escape starvation, to resort to the vilest expedients.  I refused, therefore, and frankly gave him my reasons for doing so.

“My visitor at once protested indignantly.  Whom did I take him for?  It was a fortune that I was refusing.  He guaranteed me in New York board, lodging, and two hundred francs a month.  He would pay all traveling and moving expenses.  And, to prove to me the fairness of his intentions, he was ready, he said, to sign an agreement, and pay me a thousand down.

“These offers were so brilliant, that I was staggered in my resolution.

“‘Well,’ I said, ’give me twenty-four hours to decide.  I wish to see my employer.’

“He seemed very much annoyed; but, as I remained firm in my purpose, he left, promising to return the next day to receive my final answer.

“I ran at once to my employer.  She did not know what I was talking about.  She had sent no one, and was not acquainted with any American.

“Of course, I never saw him again; and I couldn’t help thinking of this singular adventure, when, one evening during the following week, as I was coming home at about eleven o’clock, two policemen arrested me, and, in spite of my earnest protestations, took me to the station-house, where I was locked up with a dozen unfortunates who had just been taken up on the Boulevards.  I spent the night crying with shame and anger; and I don’t know what would have become of me, if the justice of the peace, who examined me the next morning, had not happened to be a just and kind man.  As soon as I had explained to him that I was the victim of a most humiliating error he sent an agent in quest of information, and having satisfied himself that I was an honest girl, working for my living, he discharged me.  But, before permitting me to go,

“‘Beware, my child,’ he said to me:  ’it is upon a formal and well-authenticated declaration that you were arrested.  Therefore you must have enemies.  People have an interest in getting rid of you.’”

Mademoiselle Lucienne was evidently almost exhausted with fatigue:  her voice was failing her.  But it was in vain that Maxence begged her to take a few moments of rest.

“No,” she answered, “I’d rather get through as quick as possible.”

And, making an effort, she resumed her narrative, hurrying more and more.

“I returned home, my mind all disturbed by the judge’s warnings.  I am no coward; but it is a terrible thing to feel one’s self incessantly threatened by an unknown and mysterious danger, against which nothing can be done.

“In vain did I search my past life:  I could think of no one who could have any interest in effecting my ruin.  Those alone have enemies who have had friends.  I had never had but one friend, the kind-hearted girl who had turned me out of her home in a fit of absurd jealousy.  But I knew her well enough to knew that she was incapable of malice, and that she must long since have forgotten the unlucky cause of our rupture.