"Bon soir, mon cousin."

She always marked the relationship now
when she addressed him.

"Geneviève!"

What was there in his voice that made her
turn her averted look upward? Something
strangely eloquent in that and in his face
there must have been, for in another instant
his brown-eyed bird was in the arms he had
opened to receive her.

Meanwhile the interview of the Marquise
de Vaucrasson with the man of magic was
come to an end, and once more she steps out
into the dark and squalid street. Ere she
has proceeded far, she is conscious of a step
behind her; she quickens her pace, the step
becomes more rapid, still faster and faster she
goes, still faster and faster the step follows.
She is about to run when a hand is
placed on her shoulder, and a hot breath
penetrates her veil.

"Do not shriek! "a hoarse voice says, "it
is useless; I mean you no harm, only come
with me quietly, "and the other hand grasps
her.

She does shriek and struggle, but not long,
for a thick muffler is placed over her mouth,
and she becomes unconscious.

When the marquise woke from her trance,
she found herself lying on a miserable and
filthy mattrass, in a room which better
merited the appellation of a cellar. By the
dim, flickering light of a wretched lamp,
whose fumes added a fresh ingredient to the
combination of loathsome odours which filled
the den, she gradually distinguished the
objects that surrounded her, each and all
partaking of the same mean and disgusting
aspect.

She was alone, that was something, and,
starting up, she looked round; when there—
close by the head of the pallet — sat a man
watching her. She shrieked, and hid her
face in her hands.

"Do not fear me," said the voice that had
sounded in her ears just before she became
insensible; "I would not harm you, ma belle,
I adore you!" and he tried to withdraw the
hands that covered her eyes.

"Monster! I hate you—do not approach
me—away!"

"Gently; I tell you I love you—love you
passionately—but remember, you are in my
power; do not provoke me, for I am not
patient. And what does not yield, I break."

Her utter, utter helplessness came across
her stronger than any other feeling, and she
wept aloud, in passionate despair.

"Let me go, for Heaven's sake! for mercy's
sake let me go! What can you gain by
keeping me here? Only release me, and I
swear to make you rich for life."

"I may not be so poor as I seem; it is for
your own sake I choose to keep you. Look
here! this is not a beggar's possession."

He took from some secret receptacle, and
held before her, a ring, which, even in that
dim place, gleamed and flashed like a mirror
in the sun.

She understood her position now, though
not how it came about. Gaston—where was
he ? Lost to her for ever, wherever he might
be. One thing before all others presented
itself to her; she must regain possession of
the ring, must free herself from the hated
thrall of this wretch's affection—anything—
anything on earth was better than that.

She knew the only course to be adopted
was dissimulation; and, though her soul
recoiled from the attempt, she must feign a
disposition to be won over to listen to his
detested advances.

She would not irritate him, she would gain
time, and trust to find an opportunity to
attain her object. And thus temporising and
watching, the day, whose wan light she was
only dimly conscious of for a few hours,
passed away, and again night came.

All that time she had, broken in body and
spirit, passed crouched on the wretched
mattrass. Her gaoler had offered her food,
but she had shrunk from it with loathing;
and though she felt not the slightest disposition
to eat, still the want of sustenance, and
the sufferings, mental and physical, of her
situation, had worn her down to a degree
of painful prostration. Far on in the night
she sunk into a troubled doze. A slight stir
in the room awoke her; but she affected
still to sleep, and with half-open eyes watched
with cat-like vigilance.

She saw her captor moving quietly about,
but rather as if in consideration for her
slumber than as though fearing detection.
What had he to fear from her? She saw
him, after casting a glance towards where
she lay, and listening to her respiration, take
from the place where he kept it the fated
ring. He hesitated for a moment, as if
doubtful where to deposit it, then, with a
significant upward toss of the head, that
said as plain as toss could say, " While I have
her safe, there is no danger for it," he placed
it in a little closet in the wall, and taking his
hat, left the room, locking the door after
him.

With every nerve on the stretch, the
marquise listened for some minutes; then,
reassured by the silence, she sprung with noiseless
rapidity from the pallet, and in a moment
was at the cupboard door; she tried it, it
yielded to her hand almost without an effort.
Again she listened, but the rapid beating of
her heart was the only sound that came to
her ears. Within the closet was a little box;
this she took down and opened; and there,
encircled in its own light, lay the jewelled
serpent, coiled at the bottom, and glaring
upward at her with its malignant emerald
eyes. She clutched it; the first step was
gained; the next—the next she was spared
the necessity of deciding on, by the sudden
opening of the door, with an oath. No love