out to a deceived husband by an unfaithful
wife. Each day widened the breach between us, until at last we sank into
this miserable existence which is wearing out my life. I kept no watch
on you; I was not made for a jailer. What I wanted was your soul and
heart. To imprison the body was easy, but your soul would still have
been free to wander in imagination to the meeting-place where your lover
expected you. I know not how I had the courage to remain by your side.
It was not to save an honor that had already gone, but merely to keep
up appearances; for as long as we were nominally together the tongue of
scandal was forced to remain silent."

Again the unhappy woman attempted to protest her innocence, and again
the Count paid no heed to her. "I wished too," resumed he, "to save some
portion of our property, for your insatiable extravagance swallowed up
all like a bottomless abyss. At last your trades-people, believing me to
be ruined, refused you credit, and this saved me. I had my daughter to
think of, and have gathered together a rich dowry for her, and yet----"
he hesitated, and ceased speaking for a moment.

"And yet," repeated Madame de Mussidan.

"I have never kissed her," he burst forth with a fresh and terrible
explosion of wrath, "without feeling a hideous doubt as to whether she
was really my child."

This was more than the Countess could endure.

"Enough," she cried, "enough! I have been guilty, Octave; but not so
guilty as you imagine."

"Why do you venture to defend yourself?"

"Because it is my duty to guard Sabine."

"You should have thought of this earlier," answered the Count with a
sneer. "You should have moulded her mind--have taught her what was noble
and good, and have perused the unsullied pages of the book of her young
heart."

In the deepest agitation the Countess answered,--

"Ah, Octave, why did you not speak of this sooner, if you knew all; but
I will now tell you everything."

By an inconceivable error of judgment the Count corrected her speech.
"Spare us both," said he. "If I have broken through the silence that I
have maintained for many a year, it is because I knew that no word you
could utter would touch my heart."

Feeling that all hope had fled, Madame de Mussidan fell backward
upon the couch, while Sabine, unable to listen to any more terrible
revelations, had crept into her own chamber. The Count was about to
leave the drawing-room, when a servant entered, bearing a let