I passed on to the estrade, she followed me; her eye, fastened on my face, demanded of every feature the meaning of my changed and careless manner.

"I will give her an answer," thought I; and, meeting her gaze full, arresting, fixing her glance, I shot into her eyes, from my own, a look, where there was no respect, no love, no tenderness, no gallantry; where the strictest analysis could detect nothing but scorn, hardihood, irony.

I made her bear it, and feel it; her steady countenance did not change, but her colour rose, and she approached me as if fascinated.

She stepped on to the estrade, and stood close by my side; she had nothing to say.

I would not relieve her embarrassment, and negligently turned over the leaves of a book.
"I hope you feel quite recovered to-day," at last she said, in a low tone.
"And I, mademoiselle, hope that you took no cold last night in consequence of your late walk in the garden." Quick enough of comprehension, she understood me directly; her face became a little blanched--a very little--but no muscle in her rather marked features moved; and, calm and self-possessed, she retired from the estrade, taking her seat quietly at a little distance, and occupying herself with netting a purse.