for your
removal. You cannot do this for yourself. You are more ignorant of the
world than a child. So you must let me see you safely through this trial.
You have no alternative, Valerie. You have no one else to consult with
but me, and you may confide in me, for I will endeavor to forget that I
ever called you wife, and will treat you with the reverential tenderness
due to a dear sister. When I once have seen you safely lodged in a secure
retreat, I will leave you there, never to intrude upon you again."

"Thanks! thanks! that is the kindest course you could pursue toward me."

"You accept all my service then?"

"Yes, on the condition that I shall seem to you only as a sister. But,
oh! Waldemar! you, who are so kind and considerate _now_, how could
you have _ever_ written to me so cruelly--calling me an unfaithful
wife--calling yourself a wronged husband? I never was consciously
unfaithful to any one in my life. I never voluntarily wronged any
creature since I was born. How could you have written so cruelly,
Waldemar?"

"Forgive me, Valerie! I was crazed with the contemplation of
you,--_you_ whom I considered as my own wife, living here as
the Duchess of Hereward. Only since I have learned that the duke is
gone--and gone forever from you, have I come to my senses. Do you
understand me, and do you forgive me?"

"Yes, both; but now, do not think me rude or unkind; but you must go. It
is not well that you should stay too long."

"Good-morning, Valerie," he said immediately preparing to obey her.

She held out her hand. He took it, pressed it lightly, dropped it, turned
and left the room.

After this day the Count de Volaski came daily to the Hotel de la Motte
on some errand connected with the duchess' financial business. These
interviews were as coldly formal as the most severe etiquette would have
required.

Valerie received frequent letters from the Duke of Hereward, in which
he spoke of the protracted business that still kept him an unwilling
absentee from her side; promised as speedy a return as possible;
expressed great anxiety concerning her health, and besought her to
write often.

She complied with his request: she wrote daily as she had promised to do,
but she could not write deceitfully; she told him of her health, which
she described as no better and no worse than it had been when he left
Paris; she told him any little political news or rumor that happened
to be stirring, and any social gossip tha