"But she--who tore him from me--that fine lady, who from her cradle has enjoyed every happiness life can afford, who basks in the golden sunshine of an admiring world, who has all--all, that is denied me--shall she enjoy the love that I have lost?"

She hastily opened a small casket of incrusted ebony, and took out a photograph in the form of a _carte-de-visite_.

She regarded it long with glowing looks.

"What foolish, inexpressive features!" she cried; "how lukewarm, how wearisome must be her love. Can she make him happy--he, who has known the pa.s.sion of my heart--who has learnt what love is?"

And she spasmodically seized the likeness and crushed it together.

The bell of the entrance hall aroused her from her stormy dreams; she threw the crumpled photograph hastily back into the casket, and her face resumed its usual calm expression.

The servant announced Count Rivero, who immediately entered, faultlessly elegant as ever, cold, calm, and friendly; the smile of the man of the world upon his lips.

With light elastic steps he approached the lady and pressed his lips lightly on her hand--not with the fiery warmth of a lover--still less with the respectful courtesy of a man of distinction towards a lady of the great world. In the count's greeting there was a certain negligent familiarity, which only his extreme elegance, and the courteous bearing which marked his every movement preserved from rudeness.

She seemed to feel this, and regarded her visitor coldly, almost with enmity.

"What? have you slept, my fair friend?" said the count, smiling: "truly it is hard to believe that the whole world is trembling with anxiety when one enters this darkened and quiet apartment."

"A number of letters and despatches have arrived!" she said, pointing to the small table near her couch.

"Are you sure," asked the count, "that this large correspondence does not arouse curiosity?"

She smiled coldly.

"They are accustomed to my receiving many letters, and I do not think they will seek here for the clue of important political events."

The count walked to the window, and drew back one of the curtains, admitting the bright light into the room. He then pushed the table with the letters to the window, and opened them one after another, whilst the young lady watched him from her easy-chair in silence.

The count drew a portfolio from his pocket, took out a small volume containing various ciphers, and with its help began to decipher the letters. The contents appeared in the highest degree satisfactory, for an expression of joy beamed from his face, and he rose with a proud look when he had ended the perusal.

"I see the work approaches its completion," he said, half to himself, half to Madame Balzer; "soon will the building of lies and wickedness fall in ruins, and truth and right will again triumph."

"And what will it be to me?" asked the young lady, slightly turning her head towards the count.

He came up to her, seated himself near her couch, and spoke with extreme courtesy, as he kissed the hand she negligently abandoned to him.

"You have a.s.sisted in a great and n.o.ble work, my lovely friend, and you have rendered very important a.s.sistance by taking charge of a secret correspondence, which has enabled me to preserve the appearance of a man of the world and ordinary traveller. I promise you an independent and brilliant position. The _how_ you must leave to me. I hope you trust my words."

She gave him a quick look and said,--

"I do not doubt that you can keep your promise, or that you will keep it."

"But," he continued, "much remains still to be done, and I believe I can open out greater and n.o.bler spheres to your genius and industry: will you continue to be my confederate?"

"I will," she replied; then a deep sigh heaved her breast, a rapid blush tinged her cheeks, and whilst a trembling fire sparkled in her eyes she said, "I have one wish."

"Express it!" he said with the gallantry of a man of the world; "if it be in my power to fulfil it--"

"I believe it is, for I have seen so many proofs of your power that I have unbounded confidence in it."

"Well?" he asked, gazing at her enquiringly.

She cast down her eyes, interlaced her fingers, and said in a low and timid voice,--

"Give me back Stielow."

Immense surprise, and a shade of displeasure appeared on his face.

"I certainly did not expect this wish," he said, "I thought you had forgotten this caprice. To fulfil it exceeds my power."

"I do not believe it," she replied, raising her eyes and gazing full at the count, "he is a boy, and you know how to lead earnest men of ripe years."

"But you forget," said he, "that--"

"That he, in a fit of ill-temper, out of spite, has thrown himself at the feet of a _fade_, insipid girl, who finds a place in the almanach de Gotha, where her heart is also," she cried, rising hastily from her rec.u.mbent position, with flashing eyes. "No, I do not forget it, but just for that reason I will have him back. I will help you in everything," she continued, speaking more slowly, "I will employ all the powers of my intellect and of my will, on behalf of your plans; but I will have something in return for myself, and I say therefore, 'Give me back Stielow.'"

"You shall certainly," said the count, "have for yourself whatever you wish. I impose no restraints on your little personal divertiss.e.m.e.nts,"

he added, with a smile; "but what do you want with this boy--as you yourself call him?--can you not rule men with your genius, and by a glance from those eyes?"

"I love him!" she whispered.

The count looked at her with amazement.

"Forgive me!" he said, smiling, "this boy--"

"Because he is a boy," she cried, and a stream of pa.s.sionate feeling gushed from her large widely-opened eyes,--"because he is so pure, so good, and so beautiful," she whispered, and her eyes were veiled with mist.

The count looked at her very gravely.

"Do you know," he said, "that the love which rules you will take from you the power of ruling others, and of being my ally?"

"No," she cried, "no, it will strengthen me; but the vain longing in my heart makes me gloomy and weak,--oh! give him back to me again. I own my weakness, let me in this one point be weak, and I promise in every other you shall find me strong and immovable."

"Had you told me before what you now tell me," said he thoughtfully, "it might have been possible, perhaps, but now it is out of my power, and--I may not use it; this young man shall not be the plaything of your caprice," he said gravely and decidedly, "shake off this weakness, be strong, and forget this fancy!"

She rose cold and calm.

"Let us speak of it no more," she said in her accustomed tone.

The count examined her attentively.

"You own I am right?" he asked.

"I will forget this fancy," she replied without a muscle of her face changing.

At this moment the door-bell was heard.