ps.

"My husband is losing his head," replied the countess. "I don't see a
trace of his old moral sense left in him. Far from understanding that he
is, as Monsieur de Camps said just now, the accomplice of the shameful
attack which is going on, and that he has not, like those who started
it, the excuse of ignorance, he actually seems to take delight in this
wickedness. Just now he brought me that vile paper triumphantly, and
I could scarcely prevent his being very angry with me for not agreeing
with his opinion that it was infinitely witty and amusing."

"That letter of Monsieur Gaston's was a terrible shock to him," said
Madame de Camps,--"a shock not only to his heart but to his body."

"I admit that," said her husband; "but, hang it! a man is a man, and he
ought to take the words of a maniac for what they are worth."

"It is certainly very singular that Monsieur de Sallenauve does not
return," said Madame Octave; "for that Joseph Bricheteau, to whom you
gave his address, must have written to him."

"Oh!" cried the countess, "there's fatality in the whole thing.
To-morrow the question of confirming the election or not comes up in
the Chamber; and if Monsieur de Sallenauve is not here by that time, the
ministry expects to annul it."

"It is infamous," said Monsieur de Camps, "and I have a great mind to go
to the president of the Chamber, and tell him how matters are."

"I would have asked you to do so at the risk of my husband suspecting
my interference, but one thing restrained me. Monsieur de Sallenauve
particularly desires that Monsieur Gaston's mental condition be not made
public."

"It is evident," said Madame de Camps, "that do defend him in any way
would go against his wishes. After all, the decision against him in
the Chamber is very doubtful, whereas Monsieur Gaston's madness, if
mentioned publicly, would never be forgotten."

"But I have not told you the worst so far as I am concerned," said
Madame de l'Estorade. "Just before dinner my husband imparted to me an
absolutely Satanic desire of his--order, I might call it."

"What was it?" asked Madame de Camps, anxiously.

"He wishes me to go with him to the Chamber to-morrow,--to the gallery
reserved for the peers of France,--and listen to the discussion."

"He is actually, as you say, losing his head," cried Monsieur de Camps;
"he is like Thomas Diafoirus, proposing to take his fiance to enjoy a
dissection--"

Madame de Camps made her husband a s