The Marquis did not speak. It might have been said that his joy was so great as to make him forget where he was and with whom. Nevertheless, he finally remembered; and, seizing the hand of Madame Véretz, he lifted it almost lovingly to his lips, so that she was afraid he had misunderstood.

"Dear madame," said he, "all men who meddle with literature have a passion which is stronger and more enduring than love, and that is selflove, and to kill out the lover it is sometimes only necessary to scratch the author with the prick of a pin."

“We were made to talk together," said she to him; "we understand each other with half a word. But, I beg you, Monsieur le Marquis, if the scratch of a pin does have such a wonderful effect, will you tell me your secret ?"

"No, madame, but I will write it to you." “That is a thing agreed upon," answered she, giving him her hand, which he pressed convulsively in his gratitude.

After which, she turned toward the pension Vallaud, saying to herself, "That is the ideal sonin-law of my dreams."

VI.

HORACE had been reading full twenty minutes. They were listening or pretending to listen to him. The pretty salon of the chalet was situated on the ground-floor, and, as the evening was warm, the window had been left open. Had there been passers-by, the sound of their footsteps might have disturbed him; but, thanks to Heaven, there were no passers-by. Jacquot and his trumpet had retired to his attic, and were peacefully sleeping in each other's arms. The birds in the park had agreed to keep silence, that they might hear better, without losing a word; it is true that the season had come when they had ceased to sing. From the bosom of their ethereal abodes, the stars, those dwellers in eternal silence, cast a friendly glance upon him. He read with dignity, with zeal, and with conviction, but also modestly. Now and then he stopped to say: "Do you think I am going too fast? When I was a child they used to reprove me for sputtering. Is it hard for you to follow me? Do you wish me to begin over again? You are going to ask for the proofs; wait, I will give them further on. If you have any observations to make, do not hesitate; I shall be much obliged to you for them." But they took very good care not to make any observation, and no one implored him to begin again.

We said before that he had the precious faculty of uniting sensations, by which he could enjoy several things at the same time, and all

these different pleasures combined to make but one. The exquisite scent of jasmine in bloom came into the parlor through the half-open window. He breathed in the perfume with delight, and, although he was absorbed in his reading, he now and then looked out at the stars, and thought of those beautiful brown eyes shot with fawncolor, which were lovelier to look upon than all the stars of heaven. He could not see those beautiful eyes, for Madame Corneuil was seated upon a luxurious divan in the background, where the glare of the lamp could not reach her. Reclining and silent, she was all ears, for darkness is favorable to attention. I can not swear that her thoughts did not occasionally wander. She might have been thinking of the two uncut volumes. Madame Véretz was seated at her frame, opposite the reader, and, as she embroidered, made little approving nods to him. Her smile and the sparkle of her green eyes also expressed sufficiently the lively interest which she took in the Hyksos, unless that smile meant simply to say, Heaven be praised, my dear sir-habit makes anything tolerable!"

66

He continued to read, turning over the leaves regretfully, for he felt so happy that he wished that both his happiness and his reading might never come to an end. Before he began, a delicate hand, which he would like to have held for ever in his own, had placed before him a large glass of sweetened water. He moistened his lips with it, hemmed to clear his voice, and then resumed in these words:

The

"We have demonstrated that the history of Joseph, son of Jacob, as contained in the thirtyfourth chapter of Genesis and those following, bears the evident stamp of authenticity. proper names, of so great importance in such cases, also bear further evidence. As every one knows, the officer of Pharaoh, chief of his guards or of his eunuchs, who bought Joseph from the Ishmaelites, and with whose wife he had that unfortunate adventure, from which he could only escape by leaving his cloak behind him, was called Potiphar, and Potiphar is nothing if not Pet-Phra, which signifies consecrated to Ra, or to the sun-god. Joseph received from Pharaoh the title of Zphanatpaneach, which must be translated into Zpent-Pouch; now, Zpent-Pouch means the creator of life, which proves sufficiently the gratitude which the Egyptians bore to Joseph for having provided for their sustenance during the famine. The daughter of a priest of On, or Annu, was given him in marriage."

Here he turned to Madame Véretz: "Is there any necessity of my explaining to you that On, or Annu, means the city of the sun, or Heliopolis?"

"Would you insult me so cruelly?" answered she.

"Then they bestowed upon him the daughter of a priest of On, or Annu, who was called Asnath, a name which can be explained as AsNeith, thus signifying that she was consecrated to the mother of the sun. After this, only one thing remains to be proved to make us sure that the Pharaoh under whose reign Joseph came into Egypt was indeed the Shepherd king Apepi."

'Here we are at last!" exclaimed Madame Véretz joyfully. "I always loved that Apepi without knowing him."

"Oh, I do not pretend to rank him too highly," answered he, "and I should not dare to affirm even that he was a person to be loved; but he was a man of merit, and you will see that he was in some measure worthy of the consideration which you wish to bestow upon him. Neither can I say that he was handsome, although there was character in his face. Do you ask how I know this? In the Museum of the Louvre, madame, in Cabinet A of the Historical Museum, there is a figure of green basalt, somewhat defaced, in which some pretend to recognize the best Saïte manner. Unfortunately, the tablets bearing the inscriptions have disappeared. Madame, I have the strongest reasons for believing that this precious statuette is not Saïte at all, but the portrait of one of the Shepherd kings, and that this Shepherd king is Apepi. So you perceive-" He lifted the glass to his lips again and took a second swallow methodically, as he did everything; then pursued his reading:

"For this purpose we are obliged to go further back. It was toward the end of the year 1830 before the Christian era that the sovereigns of the dynasty of Thebes began to rise against the Hyksos. After a long and painful struggle, in which they underwent every change of fortune, they drove the Shepherds into Lower Egypt. More than a century after, the king Raskenen was seated upon the throne of Thebes; he is mentioned in a papyrus at the British Museum, the importance of which no one can fail to estimate. It happened, so it is written in this papyrus, that the land of Egypt fell into the hands of wicked rulers, and at that time there was not a king who was possessed of strength, health, or life. But, behold! the king Raskenen appeared, full of life, health, and strength, and he reigned over the region of the south. The wicked had possession of the fortress of the sun, and the entire country was subject to their impositions and taxes. The king of the wicked ones was called Apepi, and he chose for his lord, so says the papyrus, the god Sutech, that is to say, the god Set, who is no other than the Greek god Typhon, genius of evil."

"It is true," interrupted Madame Véretz, "that Sutech, Set, and Typhon, upon close examination, do resemble each other strongly."

66

"O madame-please!" said he to her; we are just coming to the principal point."

And he resumed: "He erected in his honor a temple of solid masonry, and served none other of the gods of Egypt. So the papyrus teaches; and this important document proves: 1. That the Shepherd kings had taken up their abode in the Delta; 2. That they had all Lower Egypt under their domination; 3. That Apepi—”

Just then it occurred to him that it was long since he had heard the adored voice, that voice which sang Mignon's song to him so well; so, turning toward the divan, he said:

"He was also called Apophis, but Apepi is his real name. Which of the two do you prefer, Hortense?"

Hortense made no response; perhaps her emotion at the narration had taken away her power of speech.

Apophis or Apepi!" screamed Madame Véretz to her "choose boldly. Monsieur de Penneville leaves it to your decision."

Alas! she made no reply.

Horace started; he felt a chill run through all his frame, like a premonition of destiny. He rose, seized a light, walked hastily toward the divan. It was only too true; he could doubt it no longer-Madame Corneuil was asleep!

A little more, and he would have let fall from his hands the lamp which had thrown so much light upon his disaster. He placed it upon a stand.

'Heavens! how she sleeps!" exclaimed Madame Véretz. “Are you not something of a magnetizer?" She moved toward her daughter as if to awaken her. He drew her back, saying with a bitter sneer:

"Oh, respect her repose, I implore you!"

It would be wrong to believe that the selflove of both author and reader did not suffer greatly. Light broke in upon him: he suddenly came to understand that for several months he had either deceived himself or allowed himself to be deceived. Perfectly motionless, with cool, fixed, and piercing eye, he gazed upon the face of the beautiful sleeper, whose pose was charming, for she knew well how to sleep. Nothing could have been lovelier than the disarray of her beautiful hair, one curl of which fell on her cheek. Her lips were parted in a half smile; probably she was dreaming sweetly; she had sought refuge in a land where there was no Apepi.

Horace continued to gaze at her, and I know not what scales fell one by one from his eyes. Charming as she was, he saw her graces disappear every moment, and was on the point of

thinking her plain. In truth, he recognized her no longer. The miracle, which took place at Sakkarah on coming out of the tomb of Ti, had been undone; the connection between the sleeper and Egypt was at an end. On leaving Cairo she had borne away in her golden hair, in her smile, and in her eyes, some of the sunshine which ripens the dates, and delights the heart of the lotus, and cheers the yellow sand of the desert with mirages, and from which the history of the Pharaohs can not hide its secrets. The aureole with which it had crowned her brow was extinguished in a moment, and he also perceived that her eyelashes were too long, her lips too thin, and her arms, which were softly rounded, ended in clutching hands, with claws beneath them; that there were little lines round her brow and mouth, and these coming wrinkles which he had never before observed betrayed to him the base workings of sordid passions—that restlessness of vanity which makes women old before their time. Whence came this sudden clairvoyance? He was angry, and, say what they may, intense anger is luminous.

"You must forgive her," said Madame Véretz; "I have been watching her narrowly from the corner of my eye; she struggled bravely: unfortunately, her nerves are not as strong as mine. You had already put her to severe tests; she bore them honorably, but how can one hold out longer against that most dreadful of all bores, the Pharaonic bore? Be careful, my dear Count, she has so much esteem and friendship for you; sometimes it only takes a very little whim to weary a woman's heart."

For long months a vision had been the delicious companion of his days; she had never left him; she was interested in everything that he did; she ate and drank with him, she worked with him, and dreamed with him. She spoke to him, and he answered, and they understood one another before the words were spoken. Her voice melted his heart. She had golden hair, which had one day touched his cheek; she had lips, too, which his own had touched twice. As he went on thinking, his anger made him forget his grief; the poor fellow would have given a great deal to have his two kisses back again.

66

And yet he still had a faint hope. "No, it can not be; such things do not happen," thought he. 'She could not have let me leave her thus for ever. She will call me back; she is busy in writing to me now. Jacquot will come before midnight, bringing me a note which will explain all." No Jacquot came, and soon a neighboring clock struck midnight. Its melancholy stroke resembled a funeral-toll. The clock mourned for some one who had just died, and Horace realized that his dear companion, his vision, was no longer in the world. Henceforth he would be alone, utterly alone, and his solitude filled him with dread. His head fell upon his breast, and great tears rolled down his cheeks.

When he lifted his head, he saw he was not alone; that on his table before him stood a little statuette a foot high, looking at him. Her name was Sekhet, the helper, and she stretched toward him her pretty little catlike face full of pitying kindness. He ran to her, and took her in his hands. "Ah!" said he, "you are here; how

you remain to me. Some one said on this very spot that roses would fade, but the gods remained." As he spoke thus, he caressed her slender figure and her rounded thighs, and ended by kissing her devotedly on the forehead. It seemed to him as if the good little Sekhet really pitied his sorrows, and was moved and touched by them; that she had a kind little heart, like one of the gray nuns, or simply like a good, honest human being. It seemed to him also that there were tears in her eyes, goddess as she was, and that she returned his kiss, although she was nothing but a bit of blue porcelain. It seemed as if she said to him, "You have come back to me, and I will never lend you to any one again." And yet, good Heavens! she had lent so little of

He felt comforted, as if he had purified both

The Count de Penneville went back to his room with death in his soul. That which he so bitterly regretted was less a woman than a dream.

gazed upon himself. He saw that Count Horace's eyes were somewhat red, but, notwithstanding that, he saw that Count Horace was still a man. He went in search of two large empty