"Shall be worn by me, but not to-day. Tell me, Armand, do you still love me, the nameless orphan, the spurious child, as you did, when you thought me the heiress of one of Italy's proudest dukes? Have your feelings for me undergone no change since you learned that secret?"
"They have, Pauline, a very great change."
"Armand!"
"Yes, my beloved, and the change is that you are ten times dearer to me to-day than you were ten years ago; for I have known what it is to lose you."
They descended to the drawing-room, where Paul Lisimon was seated in company with two of the most fashionable men in the city; guests who had been invited to witness the intended marriage ceremony.
Every citizen in New Orleans had seen the advertisement in that morning's paper, an advertisement which declared the entire innocence of Paul Lisimon of the crime imputed to him, and described the whole affair as a practical joke.
The young man rose as Pauline Corsi entered the room, and dropping his face, said to her, "I received your letter from the hands of Captain Prendergills, and am here in answer to your summons."
"And you have seen the advertisement?"
"Yes; tell me in Heaven's name—how did you work so great a miracle?"
Pauline smiled with arch significance.