e arm of one of the lackeys, he staggered feebly
out, leaving the Count and Countess alone, and Sabine still listening
from her post of espial in the card-room.

CHAPTER XIII.

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

Ever since Mascarin's visit, the Count de Mussidan had been in a
deplorable state of mind. Forgetting the injury to his foot, he passed
the night pacing up and down the library, cudgelling his brains for some
means of breaking the meshes of the net in which he was entangled. He
knew the necessity for immediate action, for he felt sure that this
demand would only be the forerunner of numerous others of a similar
character. He thought over and dismissed many schemes. Sometimes he had
almost decided to go to the police authorities and make a clean breast;
then the idea of placing the affair in the hands of a private detective
occurred to him; but the more he deliberated, the more he realized the
strength of the cord that bound him, and the scandal which exposure
would cause. This long course of thought had in some measure softened
the bitterness of his wrath, and he was able to receive his old
friend M. de Clinchain with some degree of calmness. He was not at
all surprised at the receipt of the anonymous letter,--indeed, he had
expected that a blow would be struck in that direction. Still immersed
in thought, M. de Mussidan hardly took heed of his wife's presence,
and he still paced the room, uttering a string of broken phrases. This
excited the attention of the Countess, for her own threatened position
caused her to be on the alert.

"What is annoying you, Octave?" asked she. "Surely, not M. de
Clinchain's attack of indigestion?"

For many years the Count had been accustomed to that taunting and
sarcastic voice, but this feeble joke at such a moment was more than he
could endure.

"Don't address me in that manner," said he angrily.

"What is the matter--are you not well?"

"Madame!"

"Will you have the kindness to tell me what has taken place?"

The color suffused the Count's face, and his rage burst forth the more
furiously from his having had to suppress it so long; and coming to
a halt before the chair in which the Countess was lounging, his eyes
blazing with hate and anger, he exclaimed,--

"All I wish to tell you is, that De Breulh-Faverlay shall not marry our
daughter."

Madame de Mussidan was secretly delighted at this reply, for it showed
her that half the task required of her by Dr. Hortebise had been