sed."

The next moment there was a knock at the door, and the count entered.

CHAPTER X.

His first glance fell upon Toinette, who sat on the sofa in the full
light of the candles. Evidently surprised, but without losing his
self-control, he paused on the threshold and looked at the two others
with an inquiring glance.

"I'm disturbing you," he said coldly. "I saw you still had a light in
your room, Herr Doctor, and wanted to say a few words to you. If I'd
been aware, that I should not find you alone--"

"You interrupt our conversation just at the right time," said Toinette
calmly, without avoiding her husband's glance. "We've been
philosophizing a little, as we used to do in old times; there's no end
to that, especially when people look at things from such different
points of view. Rose almost fell asleep over it. We'll have another
argument to-morrow, dear friend. I think I shall finally convince and
overpower you. My best troops are yet to be brought into the field."

"Let us conclude a truce," said Edwin with a painful effort. "Really,
Countess, another such victory, and my cause will be lost."

"No, no, Doctor, you won't escape so. Do you know that he means to
leave us early to-morrow morning? I shall make you responsible for his
stay. And now good night. I won't trouble the gentlemen to escort me to
my room. Come, Rose, it's time to go to sleep, and we have still to
hold a council about my toilette."

She rose hastily, held out her hand to Edwin not daring to raise her
eyes to his, nodded to her husband and left the room with her faithful
maid. The two men stood face to face for a moment in silence.

"Is it true that you're going?" said the count at last.

"You see I had already taken leave of you," replied Edwin, pointing to
the letter, which still lay on the table. "I thought I should do you a
favor by avoiding any verbal explanation, in relation to a matter which
is painful both to you and to myself, and unfortunately hopeless also."

"So you, too, think we must fear--" He pointed to his forehead.

Edwin was silent. He was reflecting, whether a tacit agreement might
not perhaps afford a means of escape. He rejected the subterfuge.

"You have appealed to my old friendship for your wife, Herr Count,"
said he. "I owe it to her, and to yourself, to tell the truth; how
matters have reached this point, and what share wrong and misfortune
have played, I cannot and w