Madame de l'Estorade into one of those material agitations which she
less than any other woman was able to control.

"My God!" she cried, as she rushed from the study, "what has happened?"

Less ready to be alarmed, Monsieur de l'Estorade contented himself by
going to the door and asking a servant what was the matter.

"Oh, nothing, Monsieur le comte," replied the man. "Monsieur Rene in
shutting a drawer pinched his finger; that is all."

The peer of France thought it unnecessary to convey himself to the scene
of action; he knew, by experience in like cases, that he must let his
wife's exaggerated maternal solicitude have free course, on pain of
being sharply snubbed himself. As he returned to his desk, he noticed
lying on the ground the famous letter, which Madame de l'Estorade
had evidently dropped in her hasty flight. Opportunity and a certain
fatality which appears to preside over the conduct of all human affairs,
impelled Monsieur de l'Estorade, who thought little of the shock his
wife had dreaded for him, to satisfy his curiosity by reading the
letter.

Marie-Gaston wrote as follows:--

Madame,--This letter will seem to you less amusing than those I
addressed to you from Arcis-sur-Aube. But I trust you will not be
alarmed by the decision which I now announce. I am going to rejoin
my wife, from whom I have been too long separated; and this
evening, shortly after midnight, I shall be with her, never to
part again.

You have, no doubt, said to yourselves--you and Sallenauve--that I
was acting strangely in not visiting her grave; that is a remark
that two of my servants made the other day, not being aware that I
overheard them. I should certainly be a great fool to go and look
at a stone in the cemetery which can make me no response, when
every night, at twelve o'clock, I hear a little rap on the door of
my room, and our dear Louise comes in, not changed at all, except,
as I think, more plump and beautiful. She has had great trouble in
obtaining permission from Marie, queen of angels, to withdraw me
from earth. But last night she brought me formal leave, sealed
with green wax; and she also gave me a tiny vial of hydrocyanic
acid. A single drop of that acid puts us to sleep, and on waking
up we find ourselves on the other side.

Louise desired me to give you a message from her. I am to tell you
that Monsieur de l'Estorade has a disease of the liver and will
not liv