ise a fugitive wrinkle
on his brow, a doubtful intonation, a fugitive or absent glance, he might
believe at most in some return of that vague and chimerical jealousy with
which he knew the count to have been long tormented. Besides, he saw him
carrying into their family circle the same impassive and smiling face, and
he continued to receive from him the same tokens of cordiality. Oppressed,
nevertheless by his legitimate scruples of loyalty and friendship, he had
for one moment the mad temptation of revealing to the count the trial that
was imposed upon them; but while revealing his own heart, would not such a
delicate and cruel confession break the heart of his friend? And,
moreover, would not such a pretended act of loyalty, involving the
betrayal of a woman's secret, be tainted with cowardice and treason?

It was necessary, therefore, amid so many dangers and so much anxiety, to
sustain alone, and to the end, the weight of that trial, more complicated
and more perilous still, perhaps, than Monsieur de Lucan was willing to
admit to himself.

It was to come to an end much sooner than he could possibly have
anticipated.

Clotilde and her husband, accompanied by Monsieur and Madame de Moras,
went one day, in the carriage, to visit the ruins of a covered gallery
which is one of the rarest of druidical antiquities in the country. These
ruins lay at the back of a picturesque little bay, scooped out in the
rocky wall that borders the eastern shore of the peninsula. Their
shapeless masses are strewn over one of those grass-clad spurs that extend
here and there to the foot of the cliff like giant buttresses. They are
reached, despite the steepness of the hill, by an easy winding road that
leads, with long, meandering turns, down to the yellow, sandy beach of the
little bay. Clotilde and Julia made a sketch of the old Celtic temple
while the gentlemen were smoking; then they amused themselves for some
time watching the rising waves spreading upon the sand its fringes of
foam. It was agreed to return to the top of the hill on foot in order to
relieve the horses.

The carriage, on a sign from Lucan, started ahead. Clotilde took the arm
of Monsieur de Moras, and they began ascending slowly the sinuous road.
Lucan was waiting Julia's good pleasure before following them; she had
remained a few steps aside, engaged in animated conversation with an old
fisherman who was busy setting his bait in the hollow of the rocks. She
turned