When HonorÂt de Berrol entered Reine’s apartment, Stephanette wished to retire so as to leave the two lovers alone.

She took one step toward the door, but Reine said to her, quickly, in a voice full of emotion, “Remain.”

Then, scarcely able to control her feelings, she bowed her head and hid her face in her hands.

HonorÂt, astonished beyond expression, did not know what to think.

The Bohemian had closed the medallion containing the portrait of Erebus, and had placed it on the table.

The captain of the Holy Terror to the Moors vainly tried to catch Stephanette’s eye, but she seemed as anxious to avoid his glance.

Luquin Trinquetaille was the more sensible of her conduct inasmuch as he recognised on the Bohemian’s collar the flame-coloured ribbon, which was the exact counterpart of what Stephanette wore on her waist.

This observation on his part, together with several perfidious insinuations made by Master LaramÉe, who had just been taking a glass with Luquin, suddenly aroused the lover’s jealousy.

He looked at the Singer angrily, then, meeting Ste-phanette’s eyes by chance, he executed a most complicated pantomime with his left hand, which was meant to ask the young girl why the Singer had a ribbon like the one hanging from her ruff.

As this pantomimic performance made it necessary for the worthy captain to put his hand to his collar quite often, Stephanette whispered to him, with the most innocent tone in the world, “Are you suffering from a sore throat, M. Luquin?”

These words of the mischievous girl, while they excited the captain’s anger, seemed also to arouse HonorÂt from the astonishment produced by the strange reception of his betrothed.

He approached her, and said: “I am just from Marseilles, Reine, and I must speak to you on some very serious things concerning your father. Trinquetaille comes from La Ciotat and tells me that the affair of the fishery is threatening; the citizens seem to be irritated. In order to talk of all this we must be alone.”

At these words Reine raised her face bathed with tears, and with a sign ordered Stephanette to go out The girl obeyed, casting a sad look at her mistress.

Trinquetaille followed his betrothed with a very ungracious air, and the Bohemian accompanied them.

“Reine, in the name of Heaven, what is the matter with you?” cried HonorÂt, as soon as he was alone with Mlle, des Anbiez.

“Nothing,—nothing is the matter with me, my friend.”

“But you are weeping, your face is all tear-stained. What has happened, pray?”

“Nothing, I tell you,—mere childishness. The Bohemian sang a romance of his country for us; it was pathetic, and I allowed myself to be affected by it. But do not let us talk of this nonsense; let us talk of father. Is there any danger? Has his angry treatment of the recorder irritated the marshal? And what does Luquin say about the fishery? HonorÂt! HonorÂt! do answer me!”

“Listen to me, Reine; although those matters have assumed a grave, if not a dangerous aspect, let me first speak of what is above everything else,—my love for you.”

“Oh, HonorÂt! HonorÂt! what of my father?”

“Be calm, there is no immediate danger threatening the baron. The marshal has despatched two of his men to make inquiries about the facts.”

“But what does Luquin say about the fishery?”

“He comes to tell you that the consuls have returned the question with your father on the right of fishery to the overseers; so you see, Reine, that this news, although serious, has nothing threatening or alarming in it, and—”

“How do you think the marshal will consider my father’s conduct?” said Reine, hurriedly, again interrupting HonorÂt.

Her lover looked at her with as much surprise as sorrow.

“My God, Reine, what does that signify? Are we not to be united in a few days? at Christmas? Is it tiresome to you to hear me speak of my love for you?”

Reine uttered a sigh, and looked down without replying.

“Listen, Reine,” cried HonorÂt, with bitterness; “for a month now, there is something in you which is inexplicable; you are no longer the same, you are distracted, preoccupied, taciturn; when I speak to you of our approaching marriage, of our plans, of our future, you answer me with constraint. Again I say, this is not natural. What have you to reproach me for?”

“Nothing—oh, nothing, nothing, HonorÂt, you are the best, the noblest of men!”

“But, indeed, only eight days ago, you yourself formally announced to your father your desire that our marriage should take place at Christmas, even if circumstances should prevent the attendance of your uncles, the commander and Father Elzear!”

“That is true.”

“Well, then, have you changed your mind? Do you wish to postpone it? You do not answer me. My God! what does that mean? Reine, Reine! Ah, I am unhappy indeed!”

“My friend, do not despond so; have pity on me. Wait, I am foolish. I am unworthy of your affection. I annoy you,—you are so good, so noble!”

“But tell me what is the matter with you? What do you wish?”

“I do not know. I suffer—I—Wait, I tell you. I am foolish and weak and very miserable, believe me.” She hid her face in her hands. HonorÂt, at the height of astonishment, looked at her with an expression of distress.

“Ah,” cried he, “if I were less acquainted with the purity of your heart, if evidence even did not prevent the least suspicion, I would believe that a rival had supplanted me in your affection. But no, no, if that were true, I know your sincerity,—you would confess it to me without a blush, because you are incapable of making an unworthy choice. But then, what is it? A month ago, you loved me so much, so you said,—what have I done in one month to deserve such punishment from you? Ah, it is enough to make one insane!”

And HonorÂt de Berrol, a prey to violent grief, plunged almost into despair, walked up and down the room in silence.

Reine, overwhelmed, did not dare utter a word. She was almost on the point of confessing all to HonorÂt, but shame restrained her, and besides, she could not distinctly understand her own impressions.

The recital by the Bohemian, the wonderful accident which had just placed the portrait of the unknown before her eyes, increased the curiosity and romantic interest that she felt concerning the stranger, in spite of herself.

But was this sentiment love? Again, who was this man? The Bohemian called him the emir of his tribe, but at Marseilles, he and his two companions had passed for Muscovites; how could the truth be unveiled among so many mysteries? And then, would she ever see him again? Was it not idolatry? Was the pathetic incident related by the Bohemian true?

Lost in this chaos of confused thoughts, Reine could not find one word to reply to HonorÂt.

What good could be accomplished by confessing this inexplicable secret? If she had felt her affection for her betrothed diminish or change, with her usual fidelity she would not have hesitated to have told him, but she felt for him the same calm, gentle tenderness, the same confidence, the same timid veneration.

If sometimes when he was leaving Maison-Forte, HonorÂt, encouraged by Raimond V., would press his lips upon the young girl’s brow, she would smile without giving the slightest evidence of annoyance.

Nothing in her manner betrayed a change in her attachment to HonorÂt, and yet she saw the day of her marriage approach with distrust and even distress.

Doubtless this want of confidence in HonorÂt was censurable, but she divined with true feminine instinct the danger and uselessness of telling her betrothed the strange restlessness of her heart.

HonorÂt appeared to be deeply grieved. Reine reproached herself for not being able to utter a word to cheer him. Once she was about to obey the inspiration of her compassion for him and tell him all in perfect confidence, but his irritated manner arrested the words on her lips.

In his vain effort to discover the cause of the coldness and capricious conduct of Reine, and suddenly struck by some vague memories, as he recalled that, for a month past, the Seigneur de Signerol had been visiting Maison-Forte more frequently than was his habit, HonorÂt foolishly suspected this man to be the object of Reine’s preference.

This idea was all the more absurd, as the young girl, in talking with her betrothed the day of the recorder’s adventure, had blamed the Seigneur de Signerol in almost contemptuous terms, accusing him of exciting the impetuous temper of her father. As for Seigneur de Signerol, he had never had a conversation with Mile, des Anbiez.

HonorÂt, however, in his state of irritation and distress, welcomed any suspicion which seemed to explain the strange attitude of Reine.

Once admitting this suspicion into his heart, he then became indignant at the contemptuous manner in which she had spoken of this man, seeing in her language nothing but the most perfidious dissimulation.

Then, Reine was doubly culpable in his eyes. Why did she not frankly reject his hand, instead of keeping him in doubtful hope? Accepting this false theory, HonorÂt de Berrol found only too many reasons to induce him to ponder the caprices which he had observed in the conduct of Reine for some time. He even went so far as to imagine that the Bohemian was an emissary of M. de Signerol.

The recent agitation of his betrothed at the time he entered her drawing-room confirmed him in this absurd opinion. Not being able to hide this impression, he said to her, suddenly:

“Confess, mademoiselle, that it is at least rather strange that you should receive a vagabond Bohemian in your apartment; it seems to me that if he had only come to sing, you would not have been so embarrassed, so excited when I entered here.”

HonorÂt, in his anger, made this remark at random, and as soon as the words were uttered, felt ashamed of them. But what was his astonishment, his vexation, his distress, to see Reine blush and cast down her eyes without saying a word.

She was thinking of the portrait of the unknown hero, and the adventure connected with him; she was ignorant of HonorÂt’s allusion.

The embarrassment of the young girl confirmed the chevalier in his suspicions, and he exclaimed, with bitterness:

“Ah, Reine, never could I have believed you capable of forgetting yourself so far as to compromise your dearest interests by trusting them to such a contemptible creature!”

“What do you mean, HonorÂt? I do not understand you. This is the first time I have ever heard you utter such words.”

“It is the first time that I have had the assurance that I was your plaything!” cried he, unable to restrain his anger.

“Really, you do not mean what you say!”

“I mean, yes, I mean that now I can explain your hesitation, your constraint, your embarrassment; but what I cannot explain, is that you could have the cruelty to play this disgraceful rÔle toward a man who has devoted his entire life to you.”

“Why, HonorÂt, you are losing your senses! I do not deserve your reproaches.”

“One of two things: either a month ago you thought of our marriage, or you think no longer of it. If you think no longer of it, you have played with the love of an honest man; if you still intend to fulfil it, in spite of the love which you have now in your heart, why, it is detestable!”

Although Honorat’s suspicions were absurd, Reine, struck by these words, which offered some solution to the situation, kept silent.

HonorÂt interpreted this silence as a confession of her duplicity.

“You answer nothing,—you cannot answer! I was not mistaken then! This Bohemian is the secret emissary of M. de Signerol.”

“Of M. de Signerol!” exclaimed Reine. “But you cannot think it I have never addressed a word to that man except in the presence of my father. Besides, you know very well the opinion that I have expressed of him.” “The better to dissimulate this beautiful preference, no doubt.”

“M. de Signerol! M. de Signerol! indeed, you are silly!”

“Let us discontinue this comedy, mademoiselle. My eyes have not left you for a moment I observed your embarrassment, your blushes even, when I spoke of the Bohemian to you. Let us discontinue this comedy, I tell you!”

Either pride, distress, or vexation that she could not explain the cause of her embarrassment, or the pain that she felt at the bitter words of HonorÂt, incited Reine to hold up her head with dignity and say to her betrothed: “You are right, HonorÂt, let us discontinue such a discussion; it is little worthy of you or of me. Since you judge me so unjustly, since upon the most foolish suspicions you base the most dishonouring accusation, I give your promise back to you, and take back mine.” “Ah! that was your intention, no doubt, mademoiselle. All this has been necessary to force me to give you back your freedom. Ah, well, let it be so! Let all the plans of happiness upon which I have staked my whole life be forgotten; let the dearest wishes of your father and your family be trampled under foot! You have enough influence over the baron to make him yield to your designs. I assure you I will not in any way oppose them.”

At this moment, they heard the spurred heels of Raimond V., who precipitately entered, holding a paper in his hand.