red mind. On waking up, her first act was to ring
for her maid, in order to send a message to Job, to go out again in
search of the baron. But the faithful servant had divined his mistress's
wishes, and had already started off of his own accord. It was past
mid-day when he returned, but his face was radiant; and it was in a
triumphant voice that he announced: "Monsieur le Baron Trigault."

Madame d'Argeles sprang up, and greeted the baron with a joyful
exclamation. "Ah! how kind of you to come!" she exclaimed. "You are most
welcome. If you knew how anxiously I have been waiting for you!" He made
no reply. "If you knew," continued Madame d'Argeles, "if you only knew."
But she paused, for in spite of her own agitation, she was suddenly
struck by the peculiar expression on her visitor's face. He was standing
silent and motionless in the centre of the room, and his eyes were fixed
upon her with a strange, persistent stare in which she could read
all the contradictory feelings which were battling for mastery in his
mind--anger, hatred, pity, and forgiveness. Madame d'Argeles shuddered.
So her cup of sorrow was not yet full. A new misfortune was about to
fall upon her. She had hoped that the baron would be able to alleviate
her wretchedness, but it seemed as if he were fated to increase it. "Why
do you look at me like that?" she asked, anxiously. "What have I done?"

"You, my poor Lia--nothing!"

"Then--what is it? Oh, my God! you frighten me."

"What is it? Well, I am going to tell you," he said, as he stepped
forward and took her hand in his own. "You know that I have been
infamously duped and deceived, that the happiness of my life has been
destroyed by a scoundrel who tempted the wife I so fondly loved to
forget her duty, and trample her honor under foot. You have heard my
vows of vengeance if I ever succeeded in discovering him. Ah, well, Lia,
I have discovered him. The man who stole my share of earthly happiness
was the Count de Chalusse, your brother."

With a sudden gesture Madame d'Argeles freed her hand from the baron's
grasp, and recoiled as terrified as if she had seen a spectre rise up
before her. Then with her hands extended as if to ward off the horrible
apparition, she exclaimed: "O, my God!"

A bitter smile curved the baron's lips. "What do you fear?" he asked.
"Isn't your brother dead? He has defrauded me alike of happiness and
vengeance!"

If her son's life had depended on a single word, Madame d'Arg