“Do not betray her,” he said, looking at me as if I were indeed a dragon.

“Were I ever so disposed to treachery, I cannot betray what I do not know,” was my answer. “Read the note, and you will see how little it reveals.”

“Perhaps you have read it,” I thought to myself; and yet I could not believe he wrote it. That could hardly be his style. Besides, I was fool enough to think there would be a degree of hardship in his calling me such names. His own look vindicated him; he grew hot, and coloured as he read.

“This is indeed too much. This is cruel, this is humiliating,” were the words that fell from him. I thought it was cruel, when I saw his countenance so moved. No matter whether he was to blame or not; somebody, it seemed to me, must be more to blame.

“What shall you do about it?” he inquired of me. “Shall you tell Madame Beck what you have found, and cause a stir—an esclandre?”

I thought I ought to tell, and said so, adding that I did not believe there would be either stir or esclandre. Madame was much too prudent to make a noise about an affair of that sort connected with her establishment.

He stood looking down and meditating. He was both too proud and too honourable to entreat my secrecy on a point which duty evidently commanded me to communicate. I wished to do right, yet loathed to grieve or injure him. Just then Rosine glanced out through the open door; she could not see us, though between the trees I could plainly see her. Her dress was gray, like mine. This circumstance, taken in connection with prior transactions, suggested to me that perhaps the case, however deplorable, was one in which I was under no obligation whatever to concern myself. Accordingly I said,—

“If you can assure me that none of Madame Beck’s pupils are implicated in this business, I shall be very happy to stand aloof from all interference. Take the casket, the bouquet, and the billet; for my part, I gladly forget the whole affair.”

“Look there!” he whispered suddenly, as his hand closed on what I offered, and at the same time he pointed through the boughs.

I looked. Behold madame, in shawl, wrapping-gown, and slippers, softly descending the steps, and stealing like a cat round the garden. In two minutes she would have been upon Dr. John. If she were like a cat, however, he quite as much resembled a leopard; nothing could be lighter than his tread when he chose. He watched, and as she turned a corner, he took the garden at two noiseless bounds. She reappeared, and he was gone. Rosine helped him, instantly interposing the door between him and his huntress. I too might have got away, but I preferred to meet madame openly.

Though it was my frequent and well-known custom to spend twilight in the garden, yet never till now had I remained so late. Full sure was I that madame had missed—was come in search of me, and designed now to pounce on the defaulter unawares. I expected a reprimand. No. Madame was all goodness. She tendered not even a remonstrance; she testified no shade of surprise. With that consummate tact of hers, in which I believe she was never surpassed by living thing, she even professed merely to have issued forth to taste “la brise du soir.”

“Quelle belle nuit!” cried she, looking up at the stars. The moon was now gone down behind the broad tower of Jean Baptiste. “Qu’il fait bon! que l’air est frais!”

And, instead of sending me in, she detained me to take a few turns with her down the principal alley. When at last we both re-entered, she leaned affably on my shoulder, by way of support in mounting the front doorsteps. At parting her cheek was presented to my lips, and “Bon soir, ma bonne amie; dormez bien!” was her kindly adieu for the night.