Paul offered his arm.

“No, thank you,” said she.

The door was just closing, Jean was no longer there.  Bettina ran across the room.  Paul remained alone, much surprised, understanding nothing of what had passed.

Jean was already at the hall-door, when he heard some one call—­“Monsieur
Jean!  Monsieur Jean!”

He stopped and turned.  She was near him.

“You are going without wishing me good-by?”

“I beg your pardon, I am very tired.”

“Then you must not walk home, the weather is threatening,” she extended her hand out-of-doors, “it is raining already.”

“Come and have a cup of tea in the little drawing-room, and I will tell them to drive you home,” and turning toward one of the footmen, “tell them to send a carriage round directly.”

“No, Miss Percival, pray, the open air will revive me.  I must walk, let me go.”

“Go, then, but you have no greatcoat, take something to wrap yourself in.”

“I shall not be cold—­while you with that open dress—­I shall go to oblige you to go in.”  And without even offering his hand, he ran quickly down the steps.

“If I touch her hand,” he thought, “I am lost, my secret will escape me.”

His secret!  He did not know that Bettina read his heart like an open book.

When Jean had descended the steps, he hesitated one short moment, these words were upon his lips: 

“I love you, I adore you, and that is why I will see you no more!”

But he did not utter these words, he fled away and was soon lost in the darkness.

Bettina remained there against the brilliant background made by the light from the hall.  Great drops of rain, driven by the wind, swept across her bare shoulders and made her shiver; she took no notice, she distinctly heard her heart beat.

“I knew very well that he loved me,” she thought, “but now I am very sure, that I, too—­oh! yes!  I, too!—­”

All at once, in one of the great mirrors in the hall door, she saw the reflection of the two footmen who stood there motionless, near the oak table in the hall.  Bettina heard bursts of laughter and the strains of the waltz; she stopped.  She wished to be alone, completely alone, and addressing one of the servants, she said: 

“Go and tell your mistress that I am very tired, and have gone to my own room.”

Annie, her maid, had fallen asleep, in an easy-chair.  She sent her away.  She would undress herself.  She let herself sink on a couch, she was oppressed with delicious emotion.

The door of her room opened, it was Mrs. Scott.

“You are not well, Bettina?”

“Oh, Susie, is it you, my Susie? how nice of you to come.  Sit here, close to me, quite close to me.”

She hid herself like a child in the arms of her sister, caressing with her burning brow Susie’s fresh shoulders.  Then she suddenly burst into sobs, great sobs, which stifled, suffocated her.