notice
that her husband trembled, as if he feared the impression he was
producing, or was about to produce, as much as, or more than, she. He
drew nearer, and took her hand again.

'I had this mask made at Venice,' he began, in evident embarrassment. 'My
darling Barbara--my dearest wife--do you think you--will mind when I take
it off? You will not dislike me--will you?'

'O Edmond, of course I shall not mind,' said she. 'What has happened to
you is our misfortune; but I am prepared for it.'

'Are you sure you are prepared?'

'O yes! You are my husband.'

'You really feel quite confident that nothing external can affect you?'
he said again, in a voice rendered uncertain by his agitation.

'I think I am--quite,' she answered faintly.

He bent his head. 'I hope, I hope you are,' he whispered.

In the pause which followed, the ticking of the clock in the hall seemed
to grow loud; and he turned a little aside to remove the mask. She
breathlessly awaited the operation, which was one of some tediousness,
watching him one moment, averting her face the next; and when it was done
she shut her eyes at the hideous spectacle that was revealed. A quick
spasm of horror had passed through her; but though she quailed she forced
herself to regard him anew, repressing the cry that would naturally have
escaped from her ashy lips. Unable to look at him longer, Barbara sank
down on the floor beside her chair, covering her eyes.

'You cannot look at me!' he groaned in a hopeless way. 'I am too
terrible an object even for you to bear! I knew it; yet I hoped against
it. Oh, this is a bitter fate--curse the skill of those Venetian
surgeons who saved me alive! . . . Look up, Barbara,' he continued
beseechingly; 'view me completely; say you loathe me, if you do loathe
me, and settle the case between us for ever!'

His unhappy wife pulled herself together for a desperate strain. He was
her Edmond; he had done her no wrong; he had suffered. A momentary
devotion to him helped her, and lifting her eyes as bidden she regarded
this human remnant, this _ecorche_, a second time. But the sight was too
much. She again involuntarily looked aside and shuddered.

'Do you think you can get used to this?' he said. 'Yes or no! Can you
bear such a thing of the charnel-house near you? Judge for yourself;
Barbara. Your Adonis, your matchless man, has come to this!'

The poor lady stood beside him motionless, save for the restlessness