ghter, Madame the Countess Hector! And you
aren't ruined, you know, you are going to have an income of twenty
thousand francs, and perhaps enough more to raise your capital to a
million."

Hector was silent. He had thought his life ended, and now, all of
a sudden, a splendid perspective unrolled itself before him. He
might then rid himself of the patronizing protection of his friend;
he would be free, rich, would have a better wife, as he thought,
than Bertha; his house would outshine Sauvresy's. The thought of
Bertha crossed his mind, and it occurred to him that he might thus
escape a lover who although beautiful and loving was proud and bold,
and whose domineering temper began to be burdensome to him.

"I may say," said he, seriously to his friend, "that I have always
thought Monsieur Courtois an excellent and honorable man, and
Mademoiselle Laurence seems to me so accomplished a young lady, that
a man might be happy in marrying her even without a dowry."

"So much the better, my dear Hector, so much the better. But you
know, the first thing is to engage Laurence's affections; her father
adores her, and would not, I am sure, give her to a man whom she
herself had not chosen."

"Don't disturb yourself," answered Hector, with a gesture of triumph,
"she will love me."

The next day he took occasion to encounter M. Courtois, who invited
him to dinner. The count employed all his practised seductions on
Laurence, which were so brilliant and able that they were well
fitted to surprise and dazzle a young girl. It was not long before
the count was the hero of the mayor's household. Nothing formal
had been said, nor any direct allusion or overture made; yet M.
Courtois was sure that Hector would some day ask his daughter's
hand, and that he should freely answer, "yes;" while he thought it
certain that Laurence would not say "no."

Bertha suspected nothing; she was now very much worried about Jenny,
and saw nothing else. Sauvresy, after spending an evening with the
count at the mayor's, during which Hector had not once quitted the
whist-table, decided to speak to his wife of the proposed marriage,
which he thought would give her an agreeable surprise. At his first
words, she grew pale. Her emotion was so great that, seeing she
would betray herself, she hastily retired to her boudoir. Sauvresy,
quietly seated in one of the bedroom arm-chairs, continued to
expatiate on the advantages of such a marriage--raising his voice,