"Nothing. What did you think it was?"

"I feared it might be Justine who had taken it into her head to come down
stairs; she is so tiresome in her attentions--"

She arose and went to look in her chamber, which she carefully locked; a
moment later, she returned and seated herself again upon the divan.

"Justine is sleeping by this time," said Octave; "I should not have
ventured if I had not seen that her light was out."

Clemence took his hand and placed it over her heart.

"Now," said she, "when I tell you that I am frightened, will you believe
me?"

"Poor dear!" he exclaimed, as he felt her heart throbbing violently.

"You are the one who causes me these palpitations for the slightest
thing. I know that we do not run any danger, that everybody is in his
own room by this time, and yet, somehow, I feel terribly frightened.
There are women, so they say, who get used to this torture, and end by
being guilty and tranquil at the same time. It is an unworthy thought,
but I'll confess that, sometimes, when I suffer so, I wish I were like
them. But it is impossible; I was not made for wrong-doing. You can not
understand this, you are a man; you love boldly, you indulge in every
thought that seems sweet to you without being troubled by remorse. And
then, when you suffer, your anguish at least belongs to you, nobody has
any right to ask you what is the matter. But I, my tears even are not my