"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."