come back and hates me for my inconstancy, and my
second husband knows nothing about it! Now to whom do I rightly belong!
To whom do I owe duty? To Waldemar? To the duke? Who knows? Not I! One
thing only is clear to me, that I must not live with either of them as
a wife, henceforth! Heaven forgive those who forced me into this
position, for I fear that I never can do so!"

While these wild and bitter thoughts were passing through her tortured
mind the clock struck one and startled her from her reverie.

"Ah! something has prevented his coming," she said to herself, as she
once more looked out of the window. Then she relapsed into her sad
reverie.

"I can never, never be happy in this world again--never! But if I only
knew my duty I would do it. I don't know it. I only know that I must go
clear away from both these--" She shuddered and left the sentence
incomplete even in her thoughts.

Just then a footman entered with a note upon a little silver tray.

She took it languidly, but all her languor vanished as she recognized the
handwriting of Waldemar de Volaski.

"Who brought this?" she inquired of the servant.

"Un garcon from the Hotel de Russe, madame."

"Is he waiting for an answer?"

"Oui, madame."

She had asked these questions partly to procrastinate the opening of the
note she dreaded to read. Now slowly and sadly she drew it from its
envelope, unfolded and read:

"HOTEL DE RUSSE, Tuesday Morning.

"UNFAITHFUL WIFE--An engagement at the Tuileries, for the very
hour you named, prevents me from meeting you at your appointed time.
Write by the messenger who brings this, and tell me when you can see me.

"Your wronged husband, VOLASKI."

While reading this, she shivered as with an ague. When she had finished
she crushed it up in her hand and put it in her pocket with the intention
of destroying it on the first opportunity.

Then she went to a little ornamental writing-desk that stood in the
corner of the room, and took a pencil and a sheet of note paper and wrote
these words, without date or signature:

"I was ready to see you this noon. I cannot at this instant tell at what
hour I can be certain to be alone; but will find out and let you know in
the course of this day."

She placed this note in an envelope, sealed it with a plain seal, and
sent it down by the footman to Count Waldemar's messenger.

Then she hurried up to her own bedchamber, rang for her maid, changed her
dress for a white wrap