While Emily poured forth question after question, as to the nature and extent of my present difficulty, I could not help thinking of the tact by which Trevanion escaped, leaving me to make my adieux to Emily as best I might—­for I saw in a glance that I must leave Paris at once.  I, therefore, briefly gave her to understand the affair at the salon —­which I suspected to be the cause of the threatened arrest—­and was about to profess my unaltered and unalterable attachment, when she suddenly stopped me.

“No, Mr. Lorrequer, no.  All is over between us.  We must never meet again—­never.  We have been both playing a part.  Good by—­good by:  do not altogether forget me—­and once more, Harry good by.”

What I might have said, thought, or done, I know not; but the arrival of Mrs. Bingham’s carriage at the door left no time for any thing but escape.  So, once more pressing her hand firmly to my lips, I said—­“au revoir, Emily, au revoir, not good by,” and rushing from the room, regained my own, just as Mrs. Bingham reached the corridor.

CHAPTER XLI.

Mr. O’LEARY’S capture.

Does she really care for me? was my first question to myself as I left the room.  Is this story about pre-engaged affections merely a got up thing, to try the force of my attachment for her? for, if not, her conduct is most inexplicable; and great as my experience has been in such affairs, I avow myself out maneuvered.  While I thought over this difficulty, Trevanion came up, and in a few words, informed me more fully upon what he hinted at before.  It appeared that O’Leary, much more alive to the imperative necessity of avoiding detection by his sposa, than of involving himself with the police, had thrown out most dark and mysterious hints in the hotel as to the reason of his residence at Paris; fully impressed with the idea that, to be a good Pole, he need only talk “revolutionary;” devote to the powers below, all kings, czars, and kaisers; weep over the wrongs of his nation; wear rather seedy habiliments, and smoke profusely.  The latter were with him easy conditions, and he so completely acted the former to the life, that he had been that morning arrested in the Tuilleries gardens, under several treasonable charges—­among others, the conspiracy, with some of his compatriots to murder the minister of war.

However laughable such an accusation against poor O’Leary, one circumstance rendered the matter any thing but ludicrous.  Although he must come off free of this grave offence, yet, the salon transaction would necessarily now become known; I should be immediately involved, and my departure from Paris prevented.

“So,” said Trevanion, as he briefly laid before me the difficulty of my position, “you may perceive that however strongly your affections may be engaged in a certain quarter, it is quite as well to think of leaving Paris without delay.  O’Leary’s arrest will be followed by yours, depend upon it; and once under the surveillance of the police, escape is impossible.”