ctations of becoming a mother. All this was quite in accordance
with ordinary views. M. de Nueil was very nice to her; but two months
after his separation from the Marquise, he grew notably thoughtful and
abstracted. But then he always had been serious, his mother said.

After seven months of this tepid happiness, a little thing occurred, one
of those seemingly small matters which imply such great development of
thought and such widespread trouble of the soul, that only the bare fact
can be recorded; the interpretation of it must be left to the fancy of
each individual mind. One day, when M. de Nueil had been shooting over
the lands of Manerville and Valleroy, he crossed Mme. de Beauseant's
park on his way home, summoned Jacques, and when the man came, asked
him, "Whether the Marquise was as fond of game as ever?"

Jacques answering in the affirmative, Gaston offered him a good round
sum (accompanied by plenty of specious reasoning) for a very little
service. Would he set aside for the Marquise the game that the Count
would bring? It seemed to Jacques to be a matter of no great importance
whether the partridge on which his mistress dined had been shot by
her keeper or by M. de Nueil, especially since the latter particularly
wished that the Marquise should know nothing about it.

"It was killed on her land," said the Count, and for some days Jacques
lent himself to the harmless deceit. Day after day M. de Nueil went
shooting, and came back at dinner-time with an empty bag. A whole week
went by in this way. Gaston grew bold enough to write a long letter
to the Marquise, and had it conveyed to her. It was returned to him
unopened. The Marquise's servant brought it back about nightfall. The
Count, sitting in the drawing-room listening, while his wife at the
piano mangled a _Caprice_ of Herold's, suddenly sprang up and rushed
out to the Marquise, as if he were flying to an assignation. He dashed
through a well-known gap into the park, and went slowly along the
avenues, stopping now and again for a little to still the loud beating
of his heart. Smothered sounds as he came nearer the chateau told him
that the servants must be at supper, and he went straight to Mme. de
Beauseant's room.

Mme. de Beauseant never left her bedroom. M. de Nueil could gain the
doorway without making the slightest sound. There, by the light of two
wax candles, he saw the thin, white Marquise in a great armchair; her
head was bowed, her hands hung