And she was his brother's wife!

"Ah! wretched, wretched creatures that we are!" exclaimed the poor
judge, dropping upon the divan beside her.

Those few words were in themselves an act of cowardice, a beginning of
surrender, as if destiny, by showing itself so pitiless, had deprived
him of the strength to defend himself. Sidonie had placed her hand on
his. "Frantz--Frantz!" she said; and they remained there side by side,
silent and burning with emotion, soothed by Madame Dobson's romance,
which reached their ears by snatches through the shrubbery:

"Ton amour, c'est ma folie.
Helas! je n'en puis guei-i-i-r."

Suddenly Risler's tall figure appeared in the doorway.

"This way, Chebe, this way. They are in the summerhouse."

As he spoke the husband entered, escorting his father-in-law and
mother-in-law, whom he had gone to fetch.

There was a moment of effusive greetings and innumerable embraces. You
should have seen the patronizing air with which M. Chebe scrutinized the
young man, who was head and shoulders taller than he.

"Well, my boy, does the Suez Canal progress as you would wish?"

Madame Chebe, in whose thoughts Frantz had never ceased to be her future
son-in-law, threw her arms around him, while Risler, tactless as usual
in his gayety and his enthusiasm, waved his arms, talked of killing
several fatted calves to celebrate the return of the prodigal son,
and roared to the singing-mistress in a voice that echoed through the
neighboring gardens:

"Madame Dobson, Madame Dobson--if you'll allow me, it's a pity for
you to be singing there. To the devil with sadness for to-day! Play us
something lively, a good waltz, so that I can take a turn with Madame
Chebe."

"Risler, Risler, are you crazy, my son-in-law?"

"Come, come, mamma! We must dance."

And up and down the paths, to the strains of an automatic six-step
waltz-a genuine valse de Vaucanson--he dragged his breathless
mamma-in-law, who stopped at every step to restore to their usual
orderliness the dangling ribbons of her hat and the lace trimming of her
shawl, her lovely shawl bought for Sidonie's wedding.

Poor Risler was intoxicated with joy.

To Frantz that was an endless, indelible day of agony. Driving, rowing
on the river, lunch on the grass on the Ile des Ravageurs--he was
spared none of the charms of Asnieres; and all the time, in the dazzling
sunlight of the roads, in the glare reflected by the water, he must
lau