"A thousand crowns, madame," he said.

"Then the debt is cancelled. Never renew the proposal of this morning.

Good day, sir."

With a haughty inclination of the head, she swept out of the room.

"Never renew the proposal of this morning!" said St. Eustache to himself. "A thousand furies! It shall be renewed to-night. She will be at the masquerade at the opera house. I have bribed her chambermaid, and know her dress. She shall hear me plead my suit. I have dared too much, perilled too much, to give her up so easily."

Amidst the gay crowd at the opera house was a light figure in a pink domino, attended by one in black. Not to make a mystery of these characters, they were Madame Lioncourt and her brother.

"Dear Alfred," said the lady, "I am afraid you impoverished yourself to aid me in extricating myself from the toils of my persevering suitor."

"Say nothing of it, Leonide," replied Alfred. "Your liberty is cheaply purchased by the sacrifice."

"Lady, one word with you," said a low voice at her side.

She turned, and beheld a pilgrim with scrip, staff, and cross, and closely masked.

"Twenty, if you will, reverend sir," she replied gayly. "But methinks this is a strange scene for one of your solemn vocation."

"The true man," replied the mask, "finds something to interest him in every scene of life. Wherever men and women a.s.semble in crowds, there is always an opportunity for counsel and consolation. The pious pilgrim should console the sad; and are not the saddest hearts found in the gayest throngs?"

"True, true," replied Leonide, with a deep sigh.

"But you, at least, are happy, lady," said the pilgrim.

"Happy! Could you see my face, you would see a mask more impenetrable than this velvet one I wear. It is all smiles," she whispered. "But,"

she added, laying her hand on her bosom,--

"'I have a silent sorrow here, A grief I'll ne'er impart; It heaves no sigh, it sheds no tear, But it consumes my heart.'"

"Can it be possible!" cried the pilgrim. "You have the reputation of being one of the gayest of the Parisian ladies."

"Then you know me not."

"I know you by name, Madame Lioncourt."

"Then you should know that name represents a n.o.ble and gallant heart--the life of my own widowed bosom. You should know that Lioncourt, the bravest of the brave, the truest of the true, lies in a nameless grave at Austerlitz, the very spot unknown."

"I too was at Austerlitz," said the pilgrim, in a deep voice.

"You were at Austerlitz!"

"Yes, madame, in the--hussars."

"It was my husband's regiment."

"Yes, madame. I was for a long time supposed to be dead. My comrades saw me fall, and I was reported for dead. Faith, I came near dying.

But I fell into the hands of some good people, though they were Austrians, and they took good care of me, and cured my wounds; and here I am at last."

"Ah! why," exclaimed Madame Lioncourt, "may this not have been the fate of your colonel? Why may not he too have survived the carnage, and been preserved in the same manner? His body was never recognized."

"Very possibly Lioncourt may still be living."

"Yet St. Eustache told me he was dead."

"He is a false traitor!" cried the pilgrim. "Leonide!" cried he, with thrilling emphasis, "you have borne bad news; can you bear good?"

"G.o.d will give me strength to bear good tidings," cried the lady.

"Then arm yourself with all your energy," said the stranger.

"Lioncourt lives."

"Lives!" said Leonide, faintly, grasping the arm of the stranger to support herself from falling.

"Courage, madame; I tell you the truth. He lives."

"Then take me to him. The crisis is past. I can bear to meet him; nothing but delay will kill me now!" cried the lady, hurriedly.

"He stands beside you!" said the stranger.

A long, deep sigh, and Leonide lay in the arms of the pilgrim, who was still masked. But she recovered herself with superhuman energy, and said,--

"Come, come, I must see you. I must kneel at your feet. I must clasp your hands; my joy--my love--my life!"

"Room, room, there!" cried a seneschal. "The emperor!"

"Dearest Leonide," whispered a voice in her ear, "I resolved to see you again to-night, in spite of your prohibition to renew my suit."

"Then wait here beside me; do not leave me," answered the lady, as she recognized St. Eustache.

"That will I not, dearest," was the fervent reply.

Napoleon, with Josephine leaning on his arm, advanced through the broad s.p.a.ce cleared by the attendants, and when he had taken up a position in the centre of the hall, near Lioncourt and his bride, St.

Eustache and Lasalle, gave the signal for the company to unmask. As they obeyed, and every face was uncovered, his quick glance caught the pale and handsome features of the young cavalry colonel.

"What!" he exclaimed, impetuously. "Can the grave give up its dead? Do our eyes deceive us? Is this indeed Lioncourt, whom we left dead upon the field of Austerlitz? Advance, man, and satisfy our doubts."

Lioncourt advanced, and the emperor laid his hand upon his arm.

"You are pale as a ghost, man; but still you're flesh and blood. Give an account of yourself. Speak quickly; don't you see these ladies are dying of curiosity? and, faith, so I am too," he added, smiling.

"Sire," said the colonel, "you will, perhaps, remember ordering my regiment in pursuit of the flying Russians?"

"Perfectly well; and they performed the service gallantly. Their rear was cut to pieces."

"St. Eustache and I rode side by side," pursued the colonel.