almost insolent provocation in the simple grace of the movement.

Madame d’Étiolles turned away. “And your pay?” she demanded sharply.“As Madame pleases,” came the indifferent answer from the sofa. The visitor placed five pieces on the table, replaced her veil, and walked towards the door. “Adieu!” she said over her shoulder, but André could see she stepped as one intoxicated by a sublime vision. “And will Madame remember the wise woman,” the sorceress pleaded in her soft voice, “if the crystal be found to speak the truth?” “Yes”; she had wheeled sharply, a merciless freezing vengeance glistened in her eyes and steeled her voice. “I will have you burned for an insolent witch. I promise not to forget.” “My thanks, Madame.” She rang the hand-bell, and Madame was unceremoniously ushered out. The sorceress sat reflecting and then placed the crystal in her bosom and took away the screen. “It is the turn of Monsieur le Vicomte,” she remarked pleasantly. “It is a pity I did not ask the lady to stay and hear.” “No, I thank you,” André answered. “I am satisfied, and so was she.” “Monsieur is not as Madame,” the sorceress said, fixing a penetrating gaze on him, “he fears his fate.” “Oh, no,” was the quick reply. “My fate lies in my sword and my head. I am ready to face it without fear or reproach when and as it comes. But I will not know beforehand, not even for a crown reversed.” For a brief second her eyes rested on him with approval, and indeed he looked very handsome and noble at that moment. “But Monsieur will permit me,” she said gently, and before he could refuse she had taken his hand, “I will not speak unless he wishes.” While she studied it he studied her. What a subtle pathos seemed to lie in those blue eyes, those smiling lips, that dainty head almost touching him, a pathos like her perfume ascending into the brain. And how enchanting was that diamond cross rising and falling on that dazzling breast. “What is it?” he asked, for she had dropped his hand with a faint sigh, and sat staring mysteriously at something far away. “I am forbidden to speak,” she answered, averting her eyes, and she picked up her cat, and walked away. “You _shall_ tell me,” André said impetuously. But she only laughed over the cat’s body, stroking it softly with her chin till its purr echoed through the room. “Confess, confess,” he said, “I _will_ know.” “The hand of Monsieur le Vicomte,” she answered, smiling mischievously, “is full of interesting revelations--dreams which come and go--but there is one dream that is always there--the dream of love. Women,” she added, “women, women everywhere in Monsieur’s life; as in the years that were past, so in the years to come. Let the Vicomte de Nérac be on his guard against all 

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