"I will not have another day! Engagements!
When I command, what other
engagements stand!"

"Command! This to me? You forget
yourself strangely, monsieur."

Long and loud was the dispute; fierce and
cruel were the insults bandied between them;
and with far more of hate and vengeance,
than of love in their hearts, they parted.

At sunset, the Marquise de Vaucrasson,
disguised as of old, stole forth from the
wicket by which the garden of her hotel
opened on a quiet street, and after looking
cautiously round, turned her steps in the
direction of the Rue des Truauds.

Hardly had she turned the first corner,
when the little door she had locked behind
her, opened again, and a man with a cloak
and a slouched hat and drooping feather,
stepped forth, and proceeded in the direction
she had taken, following her without ever
approaching her closely, until she arrived at
the entrance of the Rue des Truands.

Here, the darkness rendering the risk of
losing sight of her greater, he ventured
somewhat to diminish the distance that separated
them, and kept her in view until the door at
which she knocked opened and closed upon her.

Just opposite to the house was a low, dark
archway, leading no one could, from the
street and at this hour, distinguish whither.
Beneath its shade Gaston placed himself, and
remained in observation, quite unconscious
that while all his attention was riveted on
the opposite side of the street, he was himself
the object of a no less rigid surveillance
on the part of two men of peculiarly evil
aspect behind him.

Suddenly, he was made acquainted with
the fact by being seized from the back,
pinioned, gagged, and carried off; it was quite
impossible to say whither, for his cloak was
wrapped round his head, so as to exclude
every other object from his sight.

After some minutes, he found himself
placed on his feet, and his head released from
its covering, though his arms still remained
bound. Looking round, he found himself
in a low den, surrounded by three or
four men whose appearance was in no way
calculated to reassure him, and who, with
coarse jokes and laughter, mocked at his
incautiousness, while they proceeded to
strip him of whatever objects of worth he
had about him.

Suddenly, a thought flashed across him.
The ring! He remembered not that the
man who had tied his hands had silently
drawn it off in the operation. Yet, strange
to say, not a tinge of regret accompanied the
recollection. His love for the donor—
whither, too, had it fled! Marvellous! The
memory of it was but like a fevered, hateful
dream, from which he had but that moment
awakened. Love her! He must have had
a fit of madness. Forsake Geneviève for
such a woman! Was he still in his senses,
or was not the whole thing a troubled vision?
No, the present, at least was painfully real;
and it would be time enough when he should
have escaped from his actual position, to try
to explain to himself the feelings and events
that had preceded it.

At last the men found that there remained
little else worth taking, and they announced
to their captive that they were bons enfans,
who had no wish to do him any hurt, and
that as he had not troubled them with any
foolish and useless resistance, his liberty
should be restored to him; adding, however,
that he must submit to being conducted
thence in such manner as they considered it
desirable to adopt.

Knowing the hopelessness of disputing
the point, Gaston assented to their arrangements;
and his head being again enveloped,
he felt a strong hand laid on his shoulder,
and himself, with various brief warnings
and directions, led through a variety of
tortuous ways, now mounting, now descending,
now turning to the right, now to the left,
until a certain change of atmosphere, and
altered sound in his own footsteps and in
those of his conductors, warned him that he
had got into the open air. After walking a
little further, they stopped; suddenly, he
felt the cord that bound his hands loosened;
but before he could, with his utmost
speed, release his head from the folds of his
cloak, he found himself standing in the street
under the quiet starlight, alone.

He looked around, bewildered. The street
he was in was one a considerable distance
from the Rue des Truands; the affair seemed
to become more dream-like than ever; but
one thing was clear: he was free, and his
way lay unobstructed before him.

How long a time had elapsed during the
progress of these strange events, the absence
of his watch prevented his being able to tell.
He guessed, however, that it could not be too
late to find his uncle and Geneviève still
stirring—Geneviève, towards whom his
whole heart yearned as if years of pain and
cruel absence had kept him from her.

With a rapid step he proceeded to the
well-known door. Suddenly, when about to
ring, he remembered the signal which of old
used to announce to her his coming; and,
passing on, he softly tapped at the window
where she was wont to sit of an evening at
her embroidery.

How long it was since she had heard that
sound! She was watching there now, but
not for him; her father was out, and she sat
alone, waiting his return. Formerly she
used to fly to open the door herself when
that signal sounded; now, with a voice she
struggled hard to modulate, she bade the old
servant, Catherine, do so, while she
continued to work, but with stitches all of
which must come out to-morrow. Gaston
entering, stopped at the door, contemplating
her in silence.