the exact state of
her affairs; he made himself her tutor, taught her the methods and
difficulties of the management of property, the proper prices to pay for
things, and how to avoid being cheated by her servants. He told her
she could rely on Constantin and make him her major-domo. Thaddeus had
trained the man thoroughly. By the end of May he thought the countess
fully competent to carry on her affairs alone; for Clementine was one of
those far-sighted women, full of instinct, who have an innate genius as
mistress of a household.

This position of affairs, which Thaddeus had led up to naturally, did
not end without further cruel trials; his sufferings were fated not to
be as sweet and tender as he was trying to make them. The poor lover
forgot to reckon on the hazard of events. Adam fell seriously ill, and
Thaddeus, instead of leaving the house, stayed to nurse his friend. His
devotion was unwearied. A woman who had any interest in employing her
perspicacity might have seen in this devotion a sort of punishment
imposed by a noble soul to repress an involuntary evil thought; but
women see all, or see nothing, according to the condition of their
souls--love is their sole illuminator.

During forty-five days Paz watched and tended Adam without appearing
to think of Malaga, for the very good reason that he never did think of
her. Clementine, feeling that Adam was at the point of death though he
did not die, sent for all the leading doctors of Paris in consultation.

"If he comes safely out of this," said the most distinguished of them
all, "it will only be by an effort of nature. It is for those who nurse
him to watch for the moment when they must second nature. The count's
life is in the hands of his nurses."

Thaddeus went to find Clementine and tell her this result of the
consultation. He found her sitting in the Chinese pavilion, as much for
a little rest as to leave the field to the doctors and not embarrass
them. As he walked along the winding gravelled path which led to the
pavilion, Thaddeus seemed to himself in the depths of an abyss described
by Dante. The unfortunate man had never dreamed that the possibility
might arise of becoming Clementine's husband, and now he had drowned
himself in a ditch of mud. His face was convulsed, when he reached
the kiosk, with an agony of grief; his head, like Medusa's, conveyed
despair.

"Is he dead?" said Clementine.

"They have given him up; that is, they leave him to