“I knew well that if I saw you again I should be lost.”

“Say, rather, saved.  Your mind was sick; I have cured you.  I work miracles; you once took the pains to write me so.  Will you touch my hand?  That will not bind you to anything; you can return it to me if you choose.”

He took the hand she extended to him; he did not carry it to his lips, but he held it within his own.

“Listen to me,” she resumed.  “To-day, this very hour, you will set out for Cormeilles, and you will say to my father:  ’She has given me her hand; it has seemed good to me to keep it; allow me to do so?’ Is it agreed upon?  Will you obey me?”

He exclaimed:  “You are here, you speak to me, the world has disappeared; henceforth I believe only in you!”

“Well done!  You see when two people frankly discuss matters they soon come to an understanding; but the main essential is to see each other.  Since you are so wise when you see me, I naturally desire to have you see me always.  There—­take that!” And she handed him a medallion containing her portrait; then she moved towards the door.  On the threshold she turned.  “Please tell Mlle. Galet,” said she, “that I respect her nap, and will return to-morrow.  Mlle. Moiseney awaits me, and must be growing impatient.  I have your word of honour?  Adieu, then, until this evening.  I must hasten away.”

And she did hasten, or, rather, she flew away.

Returning from as well as driving into Paris, the coachman put his horses to full speed, and Cormeilles was reached before the soup was cold.  Nevertheless, M. Moriaz had had abundant time for anxiety.  He did not take his seat at table without first questioning Mlle. Moiseney; knowing nothing, she could give him no information; but she responded indefinitely to his queries with that air of mystery beneath which it was her wont to disguise her ignorance.  He resolved to question Antoinette after dinner.  She anticipated him, taking him aside and recounting to him what had occurred.

“I presume,” said she, “that henceforth you will believe in his pride and his disinterestedness.  Did I not foretell you that I should have to put myself on my knees to compel him to marry me?”

He could not repress a movement of indignation.

“Oh, reassure yourself!” she resumed; “that is only my way of speaking.  He was at my feet and I was standing.”

M. Moriaz opened his lips and closed them again three times without speaking.  He finally contented himself with a gesture, which signified, “The die is cast, let come what must.”

Samuel Brohl religiously kept his word.  After having made a most faultless toilet, he repaired by the railway to Argenteuil, where he took a carriage.  He reached Cormeilles as the clock struck nine.  He was ushered into the salon, where M. Moriaz was reading his journal.  Samuel was pale, and his lips trembled with emotion.  He greeted M. Moriaz with profound respect, saying: