figure, still robed in white satin veiled with silver-embroidered white
crêpe. The diadem of diamonds still glittered in her hair, and clasps of
the same brilliant gems adorned her neck and her bare white arms.

Madame de Simonie was pacing up and down her boudoir with hasty, impetuous
steps; her whole being seemed intensely agitated. Sometimes she paused at
the door to listen, then with panting breath resumed her restless movement
to and fro, while her scarlet lips murmured: "He does not come yet.
Something extraordinary must have happened. But what? What? Can he be in
danger? Oh, my God, if this terrible week were once over, that--But hush! I
hear footsteps; it is he."

Springing to the door with a single bound like a lioness, she tore it
open.

"Is it you, father?"

"Yes, it is I," he answered, entering the room and cautiously locking the
door behind him.

"Thank heaven that you are here, father!" she sighed, with an air of
relief.

"What?" he asked, smiling, "has my Leonore again become so affectionate a
daughter that she is anxious about her father if he is suddenly called away
at night? For you have been anxious about me--about me and no one
else--have you not?"

"No, not for you," she cried impetuously, "for him, for him alone. Tell me
that he is not in danger, that he has nothing to do with the matter on