l. Jules studied
his wife's voice; he watched her glances with the freshness of feeling
that inspired him in the earliest days of his passion for her. The
memory of five absolutely happy years, her beauty, the candor of her
love, quickly effaced in her husband's mind the last vestiges of an
intolerable pain.

The day was Sunday,--a day on which there was no Bourse and no business
to be done. The reunited pair passed the whole day together, getting
farther into each other's hearts than they ever yet had done, like two
children who in a moment of fear, hold each other closely and cling
together, united by an instinct. There are in this life of two-in-one
completely happy days, the gift of chance, ephemeral flowers, born
neither of yesterday nor belonging to the morrow. Jules and Clemence
now enjoyed this day as though they forboded it to be the last of their
loving life. What name shall we give to that mysterious power which
hastens the steps of travellers before the storm is visible; which makes
the life and beauty of the dying so resplendent, and fills the parting
soul with joyous projects for days before death comes; which tells the
midnight student to fill his lamp when it shines brightest; and makes
the mother fear the thoughtful look cast upon her infant by an observing
man? We all are affected by this influence in the great catastrophes of
life; but it has never yet been named or studied; it is something more
than presentiment, but not as yet clear vision.

All went well till the following day. On Monday, Jules Desmarets,
obliged to go to the Bourse on his usual business, asked his wife, as
usual, if she would take advantage of his carriage and let him drive her
anywhere.

"No," she said, "the day is too unpleasant to go out."

It was raining in torrents. At half-past two o'clock Monsieur Desmarets
reached the Treasury. At four o'clock, as he left the Bourse, he came
face to face with Monsieur de Maulincour, who was waiting for him with
the nervous pertinacity of hatred and vengeance.

"Monsieur," he said, taking Monsieur Desmarets by the arm, "I have
important information to give you. Listen to me. I am too loyal a man to
have recourse to anonymous letters with which to trouble your peace of
mind; I prefer to speak to you in person. Believe me, if my very life
were not concerned, I should not meddle with the private affairs of any
household, even if I thought I had the right to do so."

"If what you have to