ng wife, the hardships of this home, half deserted by
the husband, and the nervousness and peevishness of Jacquemin returning
to this poor place after a night at the restaurants or a ball at
Baroness Dinati's. He heard the cutting voice of the elegant little man
whom his humble wife contemplated with the eyes of a Hindoo adoring
an idol; he was present, in imagination, at those tragically sorrowful
scenes which the wife bore with her tender smile, poor woman, knowing
of the life of her Paul only those duties of luxury which she herself
imagined, remaining a seamstress still to sew the buttons on the
shirts and gloves of her husband, and absolutely ignorant of all the
entertainments where, in an evening, would sometimes be lost, at a game
of cards, the whole monthly salary of Monsieur Puck! And Zilah said to
himself, that this was, perhaps, the first time that this woman had
ever been brought in contact with anything pertaining to her husband's
fashionable life--and in what shape?--that of a man who had come to
demand satisfaction for an injury, and to say to Jacquemin: "I shall
probably kill you, Monsieur!"

And gradually, before the spectacle of this profound love, of this
humble and holy devotion of the unselfish martyr with timid, wistful
eyes, who leaned over her children, and said to them, sweetly, "Yes,
you are hungry, I know, but you shall have papa's beefsteak," while she
herself breakfasted off a little coffee and a crust of bread, Andras
Zilah felt all his anger die away; and an immense pity filled his
breast, as he saw, as in a vision of what the future might have
brought forth, a terrible scene in this poor little household: the pale
fair-haired wife, already wasted and worn with constant labor, leaning
out of the window yonder, or running to the stairs and seeing, covered
with blood, wounded, wounded to death perhaps, her Paul, whom he,
Andras, had come to provoke to a duel.

Ah! poor woman! Never would he cause her such anguish and sorrow.
Between his sword and Jacquemin's impertinent little person, were now
this sad-eyed creature, and those poor little children, who played
there, forgotten, half deserted, by their father, and who would grow up,
Heaven knows how!

"I see that Monsieur Jacquemin will not return," he said, rising
hurriedly, "and I will leave you to your breakfast, Madame."

"Oh! you don't trouble me at all, Monsieur. I beg your pardon again for
having given my children their breakfast be