eathless with fear; so she called out to the coachman:
"Home!" and the horses set off at a quick trot.

II

Countess de Mascaret was waiting in her room for dinner time, like a
criminal sentenced to death, awaits the hour of his execution. What was
he going to do? Had he come home? Despotic, passionate, ready for any
violence as he was, what was he meditating, what had he made up his
mind to do? There was no sound in the house, and every moment she looked
at the clock. Her lady's maid had come and dressed her for the evening,
and had then left the room again. Eight o'clock struck and almost at the
same moment there were two knocks at the door, and the butler came in
and told her that dinner was ready.

"Has the Count come in?" "Yes, Madame la Comtesse; he is in the
dining-room."

For a little moment she felt inclined to arm herself with a small
revolver which she had bought some time previously, foreseeing the
tragedy which was being rehearsed in her heart. But she remembered that
all the children would be there, and she took nothing except a smelling
bottle. He rose somewhat ceremoniously from his chair. They exchanged a
slight bow, and sat down. The three boys, with their tutor, Abbe Martin,
were on her right, and the three girls, with Miss Smith, their English
governess, were on her left. The youngest child, who was only three
months old, remained upstairs with his nurse.

The Abbe said grace as usual, when there was no company, for the
children did not come down to dinner when there were guests present;
then they began dinner. The Countess, suffering from emotion, which she
had not at all calculated upon, remained with her eyes cast down, while
the Count scrutinized, now the three boys, and now the three girls, with
uncertain, unhappy looks, which traveled from one to the other.
Suddenly, pushing his wine-glass from him, it broke, and the wine was
spilt on the tablecloth, and at the slight noise caused by this little
accident, the Countess started up from her chair, and for the first time
they looked at each other. Then, almost every moment, in spite of
themselves, in spite of the irritation of their nerves caused by every
glance, they did not cease to exchange looks, rapid as pistol shots.

The Abbe, who felt that there was some cause for embarrassment which he
could not divine, tried to get up the conversation, and he started
various subjects, but his useless efforts gave rise to no ideas and did
not brin