The picture of the wife in
tears, and the dejected, morose husband, separated in the midst of
this festivity like the two halves of a tree blasted by lightning, had
perhaps a prophetic significance for the Countess. She dreaded lest she
here saw an image of the revenges the future might have in store for
her. Her heart was not yet so dried up that the feeling and generosity
were entirely excluded, and she pressed the Duchess' hand, while
thanking her by one of those smiles which have a certain childlike
grace.

"My dear child," the old lady said in her ear, "remember henceforth that
we are just as capable of repelling a man's attentions as of attracting
them."

"She is yours if you are not a simpleton." These words were whispered
into Colonel Montcornet's ear by Madame de Lansac, while the handsome
Countess was still absorbed in compassion at the sight of Soulanges, for
she still loved him truly enough to wish to restore him to happiness,
and was promising herself in her own mind that she would exert the
irresistible power her charms still had over him to make him return to
his wife.

"Oh! I will talk to him!" said she to Madame de Lansac.

"Do nothing of the kind, my dear!" cried the old lady, as she went
back to her armchair. "Choose a good husband, and shut your door to my
nephew. Believe me, my child, a wife cannot accept her husband's heart
as the gift of another woman; she is a hundred times happier in the
belief that she has reconquered it. By bringing my niece here I
believe I have given her an excellent chance of regaining her husband's
affection. All the assistance I need of you is to play the Colonel." She
pointed to the Baron's friend, and the Countess smiled.

"Well, madame, do you at last know the name of the unknown?" asked
Martial, with an air of pique, to the Countess when he saw her alone.

"Yes," said Madame de Vaudremont, looking him in the face.

Her features expressed as much roguery as fun. The smile which gave life
to her lips and cheeks, the liquid brightness of her eyes, were like
the will-o'-the-wisp which leads travelers astray. Martial, who believed
that she still loved him, assumed the coquetting graces in which a man
is so ready to lull himself in the presence of the woman he loves. He
said with a fatuous air:

"And will you be annoyed with me if I seem to attach great importance to
your telling me that name?"

"Will you be annoyed with me," answered Madame de Vaudremont, "if a