Mademoiselle Juliette, Monsieur Mirotaine's daughter, was nearly nineteen years of age, but was such a gentle and timid young woman that one would readily have mistaken her for a schoolgirl of twelve. She trembled before her father, who always treated her harshly; and ever since she had had a stepmother, her life had been passed in doing the will of one or the other. Let us hasten to say, however, that Madame Mirotaine II was no tyrant; indeed, she was not unkind at heart; but she was anxious to get rid of her stepdaughter, because she herself was inclined to be coquettish, and Juliette was exceedingly pretty. Although her timidity made her seem like a child, physically speaking she was a lovely girl of nineteen, with a graceful figure, clear white skin, and brown hair; her mouth was beautiful, her teeth small and even, her almond-shaped eyes were charming in the softness of their expression; but she kept them almost always on the ground, at least before her parents; I like to think that she raised them sometimes when she was talking with Lucien.

Juliette was very easily moved; that could be divined from her eyes and the tones of her voice; she had listened at first with pleasure, then with love, to the declarations of young Lucien, who had long been in the habit of calling at Monsieur Mirotaine's, whose commissions and errands he was always ready to undertake. But he was not welcomed there so cordially since he had dared to ask Monsieur Mirotaine for his daughter's hand.

"My daughter has no dowry," the father had replied; "you haven't a sou, nor any place, nor any trade; so you can't marry her. Earn some money, work up a flourishing business, and I'll give you my daughter."

"Then, monsieur, promise to keep her for me till I have succeeded."

"No, indeed; that might be altogether too long. I shall marry Juliette as soon as I have found a good match for her; meanwhile I am perfectly willing that you should come to my house and do my errands when I have any, but on condition that you are never to be alone with my daughter, and that you never mention the subject of love to her."

Lucien promised; indeed, he had to promise, in order to be allowed to continue his visits to the house; but, as will be seen, the lovers were in a very melancholy plight, and they could hardly find a minute to exchange a word of love in secret.

Luckily for Juliette, she had a friend upon whose bosom she could pour out her heart, to whom she told all her troubles and her hopes—in short, everything that took place in her heart and in her mind.

She was a boarding-school friend, but was six years older than Juliette; they were in perfect accord, however, in their views, their feelings, and their sentiments. The friend had married immediately upon leaving school; she had not been able to obtain permission for Juliette, who was then only fourteen, to come to her wedding; but Juliette's father had consented to her receiving her friend's visits. Knowing that she was rich, Monsieur Mirotaine thought that she could not be an undesirable acquaintance for his daughter.

It is needless to say that when Juliette fell in love with Lucien her passion was confided to her tender-hearted friend, as well as the disappointments of the lovers, their hopes, and their plans for the future. Meanwhile, the friend had lost her husband; but as she had not married for love, it is probable that she shed very few tears on her young friend's breast.

It was two o'clock in the afternoon; Juliette was alone in her chamber and even more melancholy than usual; we shall soon know the reason. She had at least the satisfaction of having a chamber to herself, where she could weep at her ease; a narrow corridor led to it from the reception-room, so that to reach it one was not obliged to pass the whole suite. Hence, the girl might, in an emergency, have received a secret visit from Lucien; he might have slipped into her room from the dining-room. But Juliette would not allow it; she felt that it would be wrong to receive a young man secretly in her bedroom; she did not wish to expose herself to her stepmother's remonstrances and her father's anger. But Juliette was unhappy; she sighed, and sometimes wept a large part of the day.

It was with a cry of joy, therefore, and a feeling of the utmost satisfaction that she saw that friend enter her room, to whom alone she could pour out her heart.

"Ah! Nathalie, at last!" said Juliette, running to meet the young widow, who began by kissing her. "What a long time since you came to see me! fie, madame! it is wicked of you to neglect me so, when I have no other friend, no other consolation, but you! Come, sit down here with me this minute. Oh! how happy it makes me to see you!"

"Don't scold me, my dear Juliette; the reason that I haven't been to see you for some time is that I haven't been very well."

"Oh, dear! that was all that was wanting—that you should be sick! You ought to have written to me; I would have shown father your letter, and he couldn't have refused to let me go to see you and nurse you."

"It wasn't worth while; it's all over now, as you see."

"Why, no—no, you are a little pale."

"I always am. But you have a pair of red eyes; what does that mean? You have been crying; is there anything new? doesn't Lucien love you any more?"

"Oh, yes! poor boy—I see in his eyes that he still loves me; he can't tell me so except with his eyes, but I can understand what they say."

"What is the matter, then?"

"Oh! mon Dieu! the matter is that they are still bent on marrying me, especially my stepmother, who wants to get rid of me; and this time it seems that they have found a husband for me. It's that infernal second-hand dealer, Madame Putiphar, who has planned it all. She promised my stepmother to bear me in mind. And now they say she's found a superb match for me: a Neapolitan or Sicilian count—or some kind of an Italian nobleman, immensely rich, who doesn't want a dowry!—do you hear? no dowry! That is what captivates father."

"Have you seen this count?"

"No, not yet, thank God! but it appears that I am to see him soon; we're to give a dinner for him and one of his friends, who always accompanies him."

"Your father is going to give a dinner party? it isn't possible!"

"Oh! he didn't want to; but it seems that this count is in the habit of dining in every house he goes to—he and his friend; my stepmother Aldegonde brought my father to the point. 'You must give this dinner,' she said, 'and let it be a handsome one; a rich and noble son-in-law is well worth going to some little expense.'—Father swore, but he yielded—and the day is fixed: the day after to-morrow, my prospective husband is to dine with us. And that is why I am crying! why I am so unhappy! And I saw in Lucien's eyes that he knew all about it; Aldegonde probably told him, just to be nasty."

"Come, come, my poor Juliette, don't get so excited; this marriage hasn't come off yet. You are very pretty, but perhaps your style of beauty won't please this Italian."

"Oh! I'll make faces at him."

"A thousand things may happen to prevent it. Has your father made any inquiries about the man?"

"I don't think so; he relies on Madame Putiphar's word, and she praises him in the highest terms, as well as his friend, who's a commission merchant in something or other."

"A commission merchant in marriages, I should say! However, I prefer to believe that your father wouldn't marry you to a man without knowing something about him. And, do you know, there's one thing in all this that seems so perfectly absurd to me—that is, the idea of this rich nobleman absolutely insisting on being invited out to dinner—he and his friend! That has every appearance of a joke, do you know!"

"That is so. You are right! It doesn't seem altogether natural."

"I don't know why, but I suspect some sort of a scheme in all this. There are so many schemers in Paris! Look you, my dear, this marriage isn't made yet, and something tells me that it never will be."

"Bless you, my dear Nathalie! you renew my hopes, you bring back joy to my heart! Ah! how good it was of you to come!"

"Yes, and you have no idea that you came very near never seeing me again; that I have been in great danger."

"Mon Dieu! how you frighten me! what has happened, in heaven's name?"

"My dress caught fire, my love; it was all ablaze, and I never suspected it!"

"Oh! heaven!"

"Don't be alarmed; the danger must have passed, as I am here."

"Was it long ago?"

"Not more than a week.—I was walking on the boulevard; it seems that my dress came in contact with a lighted match, which our gentlemanly friends are in the habit of strewing along their path, presumably to gratify themselves by roasting us alive! My dress was on fire, and I had no idea of it, when suddenly I felt two strong arms surround me—yes, hug me; I started to cry out, I thought that it was an insult—my dear, my life had been saved! A young man, at the risk of burning himself to death, had sacrificed himself in order to extinguish the fire, and he did it very adroitly, but at the cost of quite a bad burn on his wrist."

"Oh! the poor fellow! I wish I could thank him. Was he a workingman?"

"No; a very elegant young man—and very good-looking. We were surrounded in a moment; you know how inquisitive everybody is in Paris. Luckily, there was a druggist's shop within a few steps, and we took refuge there; and while my rescuer's arm was being dressed, we talked a little. You can understand that I was anxious to know who it was to whom I was so deeply indebted; I asked him his name, and he gave me his card; he was Monsieur AdhÉmar Monbrun—a dramatist who writes delightful plays. You don't know him, poor darling, for they never take you to the theatre!"

"No, but I know the name through Lucien. This AdhÉmar Monbrun is a friend of his; he has often spoken to me about him, and he speaks very highly of him."

"Really? Monsieur Lucien knows him, and speaks very highly of him?"

"Yes; he says that he is a very generous man, always ready to help his friends. Indeed, he has said to me more than once: 'If I wanted money, I am very sure that AdhÉmar would lend me some; but, in my opinion, a man ought not to borrow when he doesn't know how he can repay the loan.'—But finish your story."

"Oh! it's almost finished.—When he gave me his card, I thought it best to give him mine; for I didn't want him to think he had rescued a lorette, or a bitch—as they call prostitutes now. Then I sent for a cab, for I couldn't walk home with my dress all burned. The cab came, and Monsieur AdhÉmar escorted me to it; I offered to drive him home, for he had to carry his arm in a sling. That was natural enough, wasn't it?"

"Surely. Poor fellow! is he badly burned?"

"Yes, on the wrist; it will not be serious; but he will probably retain the mark. He declined my offer, and left me."

"Ah! and was that all?"

"Yes."

"It's a pity!"

"What a child you are! Oh! there was something else, though."

"What was it? what was it? I had a shrewd idea that it wasn't finished."

"I thought that it would be discourteous of me, knowing his address, not to send to inquire how his burn was getting along; for, you see, it was for me, it was in assisting me, that he was injured."

"Why, of course; and it was your duty to inquire."

"Still, I hesitated a long while."

"Why so?"

"Oh! because—I don't know—I was afraid it would seem as if I wanted to force that young man to think about me."

"Really? was that the reason?"

"Dear me! how spiteful you are this morning!—At last, I concluded to do it; and three days ago I sent my servant to inquire about the burn. She saw him, and he told her that it was almost well, that he thanked me very much for the interest I was good enough to take in him, and that he should have the honor of coming himself to thank me."

"Oho! so he has been to see you, has he?"

"No; that was three days ago, and he hasn't been yet. He probably said it to be polite; he won't come."

"I'll bet that he will."

"He may come or not, as he pleases; after all, it makes no difference to me."

"Oh! what a lie!"

"Juliette!"

"Yes, that's a lie; it does make a difference to you! Tell me, Nathalie, am I not to be your confidante, as you are mine? You have often said to me: 'I made a marriage of reason; I have never known what it is to love; but it must be a very pleasant thing. I am bored sometimes when I am alone; if I loved somebody, it seems to me that I should never be bored.'"

"Yes, I have said all that to you; what then?"

"Well—let me look into your eyes. Come, I'll bet that you are never bored now."

"What an idea, Juliette! You will have it that I am in love with a man whom I hardly know, who has never spoken to me but once, and who has no desire to see me again—as you see!"

"Mon Dieu! I don't say that you love him; but I think that he attracted you—that you might have fallen in love with him."

"Well, yes! yes, my dear friend; yes, he did attract me; yes—— I don't know whether it is gratitude for the great service he rendered me, or—— Oh! I won't conceal anything from you! Ever since that day, I don't know what has been the matter with me: I have been nervous and sad; everything irritates me; I keep wanting to cry; I think of him all the time; I tell myself that I am a fool, that I lack common sense. But I am not bored any more—no, no, I am never bored now!"

And Nathalie threw her arms about her friend; her heart had longed for a vent, and it was relieved as of a burden. Then she continued:

"And Lucien knows him? Oh! how I would like to see Lucien! I would ask him a thousand questions. But you say he speaks highly of him?"

"Yes, very.—By the way, I remember——"

"What?"

"No, I won't tell you that."

"Is it something concerning Monsieur AdhÉmar? I insist upon your telling me, and telling me instantly!"

"Well, Lucien said: 'It's a pity that AdhÉmar will never believe that anyone loves him; it is true that he has been deceived so often by his mistresses that it may well have made him distrustful; but he carries it too far now; he has sworn never to love any woman again.'"

"That's a drunken man's oath, my dear love," said Nathalie, with a smile; "and that young man isn't old enough to keep it."

"But tell me, my dear, is there anything new? Have you had no news?"

"Of whom?"

"You know to whom I refer."

"Oh! yes, I understand; but, really, my adventure with Monsieur AdhÉmar has made me entirely forget the person you speak of. No, thank heaven, I haven't seen him again!"

"I am so glad! when I think of him, do you know, I am always afraid for you."

"What a child you are!"

At that moment, Madame Mirotaine II entered the room.

"Your father's asking for you, Juliette," she said.—"Ah! your servant, madame! excuse me for disturbing you."

"Not at all, madame; I was just going when you came in; in any event, I would not keep Juliette from obeying her father's summons.—Au revoir, dear girl!"

As Nathalie kissed her, Juliette whispered in her ear:

"Come to see me after the famous dinner; I will tell you the result."

"Very well; and I will tell you if—I have seen him again."

"Madame, I have the honor to salute you."

"Present my compliments to Monsieur Mirotaine, if you please!"

"I will not fail, madame."