Rosine came to the garden door, lamp in hand; she stood on the steps, lifting her lamp, looking round vaguely.
"Quel conte!" she cried, with a coquettish laugh.

"Personne n'y a ete." "Let me pass," pleaded a voice I knew: "I ask but five minutes;" and a familiar shape, tall and grand (as we of the Rue Fossette all thought it), issued from the house, and strode down amongst the beds and walks.
It was sacrilege--the intrusion of a man into that spot, at that hour; but he knew himself privileged, and perhaps he trusted to the friendly night.

He wandered down the alleys, looking on this side and on that--he was lost in the shrubs, trampling flowers and breaking branches in his search--he penetrated at last the "forbidden walk." There I met him, like some ghost, I suppose.
"Dr.John! it is found." He did not ask by whom, for with his quick eye he perceived that I held it in my hand.
"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.