A THUNDER CLAP.

Goutran was startled by the tone in which Esperance spoke. He hastened with Carmen to the music-room, and then returned to the Vicomte.

“I have been very negligent,” the artist said, penitently, “and I have a thousand apologies to make. And now, what may I do for you?”

The Vicomte was very pale. He hesitated.

“My friend,” he said at last, “you have entire confidence in me, have you not?”

“Most certainly. You have won both my esteem and affection.”

“And you think me incapable of falsehood?”

“What a question!”

“Then listen to me. I was standing in this spot just now I had been listening to that girl’s divine voice. You passed me and spoke to me, but I hardly knew what you said, when suddenly from behind that hanging came these words, distinctly pronounced:

“Take care, son of Monte-Cristo, take care! You are walking into a snare laid for you. Take care!”

“A snare! Who was it that spoke?”

“I know not. I instantly drew aside the curtain, but there was no one there.”

“No one!” Goutran smiled. “But this is sorcery, my dear fellow. You must have been dreaming. It was, of course, some illusion.”

“Illusion!” repeated Esperance, impatiently, “I tell you that I heard the words distinctly.”

“Then it was some one who, seeing you buried in thought, played this wretched joke.”

“That may be, but there was a tone of sincerity in the voice that struck me.”

“But there is no sense in the words. A snare! Who could spread one for you in this house but myself? Now will you, in your turn, tell me if you have absolute faith in me? I have been anxious to coax you from your studies and your solitude, and I was glad when I saw you come in to-night. Now, my dear fellow, dismiss these fancies. Take my arm and make a plunge into the furnace!”

Goutran laughed as he led the way toward the room where Jane Zeld had been singing.

“Can the snare,” continued Goutran, “be found in the delicious tones of that voice, which has moved you so deeply? Those eyes are wonderfully bright.”

Esperance found himself near the piano. Jane had risen, and was receiving the many compliments of her admirers. She saw Esperance, and as her eyes fell upon him, Goutran felt his companion start.

“Suppose,” he said, “that I present you to our star? Surely she will exorcise your dismal thoughts. Mademoiselle,” he added, addressing Jane, “one of your most ardent admirers solicits the honor of being presented to you.”

The two Jane and Esperance were now face to face. Esperance, pale and silent, looked at Jane, while she stood waiting possibly for some words of praise.

The crowd swept on, leaving these two persons almost alone, and at this moment a candle fell from one of the chandeliers upon the train of Jane’s black tulle, and shrieks from all the women rent the air. Flames threatened to envelop Jane. With a rapidity that was quicker than thought, Esperance tore down one of the heavy Eastern portieres, and wrapped it around the girl. He did this so skilfully that in a minute the flames were stifled, and Jane stood, pale but smiling, as if she hardly knew the danger she had been in. She was magnificent, enveloped in this mantle that looked like a royal robe.

Having accomplished his work Esperance drew back, like a worshipper recoiling in terror after touching the goddess.

At this moment a man made his way through the crowd. He was dressed in an old-fashioned livery. His face was large-featured and solemn, but now contracted with terror.

“Are you hurt?” he cried, as he reached Jane. Two persons started on hearing this voice one was Jane. She colored deeply, and in much agitation answered quickly:

“No, my friend, I am not hurt. It was a slight accident, and this gentleman saved me.”

Esperance started, because he felt sure that this voice and the one that had addressed to him the strange words he had repeated to Goutran, was the same. The man turned and looked at the Count.

“Who is this man who seems so interested in his friend?” asked some one.

“Oh! he is the intendant Master Jacques who goes everywhere with Jane Zeld,” answered the ever-present reporter, delighted to have an opportunity of displaying his erudition. “He is called Maslenes at the hotel.”

Jane turned to Esperance:

“Will you kindly add to your kindness by giving me your arm to my carriage?”

While the crowd, who had by no means recovered from their agitation, complimented her on her courage, Jane moved slowly from the room. Goutran made no effort to detain her, though he knew very well that her departure would be the signal for a general move, as it was long after midnight.

Esperance tried to speak, but he found it impossible to say a word to Jane. The intendant preceded them. It was plain to the most casual observer that he had by no means gotten over his terror. His feet were unsteady, and his hands trembled to that degree that he could hardly open the carriage door.

“Once more let me thank you,” said Jane, softly. “We shall meet again I trust.”

Esperance, almost as if in a dream, bowed over her extended hand, and pressed a kiss upon it. The hand trembled, but it was not withdrawn too hastily.

Then Esperance saw nothing more neither the intendant, who lingered as if to speak to him, nor the coachman as he gathered up the reins. He heard the rattle of wheels that bore Jane away, and laid his hand on his heart to quell the strange tumult there. He remained standing on the pavement, blind to the curious gaze of his servants.

“Are you going home sir, now?” asked his own coachman.

“Ah! what did you say?” Esperance aroused himself and looked around. “Yes, I wish to go home.” He took a step to the carriage.

“If you will wait a moment, sir, the footman will go for your hat.”

His hat! Esperance did not know that his head was uncovered. He was amazed at himself, he felt a certain sense of shame.

“No,” he replied, “I will go for it myself.”

He went back to Goutran’s apartment. As he passed through the vestibule he heard a sarcastic laugh. He was of course mistaken, for only Goutran, with Carmen, were coming down the stairs Monsieur de Laisangy, Comte Velleni, and his Secretary Fagiano.

“You have behaved like a hero, Count!” cried Carmen, as soon as she saw him.

Her father at this moment had a violent attack of coughing. Through it all he said:

“You have done well, sir.”

Signor Fagiano said in clear, distinct tones:

“The Vicomte is a worthy son of his father!”

I know not why, but these words sounded disagreeably to Esperance, who turned quickly. But Fagiano was in the shadow, and Esperance saw only his eyes, which were very bright. The Vicomte began to think his nerves were sadly out of order.

Goutran, when the door had closed on the last of his guests, turned to him and asked how he would like a little walk up the Champs-Elysees.

“Very much,” answered the Vicomte, “I need fresh air.”

He took his hat from the hands of a lacquey, and the two young men walked off together. Neither knew that Fagiano had not driven away with Comte Velleni, but that, standing in a dark doorway, he followed the Vicomte with his eyes. Hissing through his close shut teeth, he said:

“Yes, worthy son of thy father, I swear that I will have my revenge!”