lves! Woe to those who are guilty
of the crime!"

Cayrol had fallen, as if thunderstruck, on a chair, with haggard eyes;
his voice was gone, and he looked the image of despair. Madame
Desvarennes's words came back to him like the refrain of a hated song. To
himself he kept repeating, without being able to chase away the one
haunting thought: "Her lover, to-night, at your house!" He felt as if he
were going mad. He was afraid he should not have time to wreak his
vengeance. He made a terrible effort, and, moaning with grief, he arose.

"Take care!" said Pierre. "Here's your wife."

Cayrol eyed Jeanne, who was approaching. Burning tears came to his eyes.
He murmured:

"She, with a look so pure, and a face so calm! Is it possible?"

He nodded a farewell to Pierre and Madame Desvarennes, who were leaving,
and recovering himself, advanced to meet Jeanne.

"Are you off?" she inquired. "You know you have no time to lose!"

Cayrol shuddered. She seemed anxious to get rid of him.

"I have still a few minutes to spend with you," he said, with emotion.
"You see, Jeanne, I am sad at going away alone. It is the first time I
have left you. In a moment our guests will be gone--I beg of you, come
with me!"

Jeanne smiled. "But you see, dear, I am in evening dress."

"The night of our marriage I brought you away from Cernay like that. Wrap
yourself up in your furs, and come! Give me this proof of affection. I
deserve it. I am not a bad man--and I love you so!"

Jeanne frowned. This pressing vexed her.

"This is childish," she said. "You will return the day after tomorrow,
and I am tired. Have some pity for me."

"You refuse?" asked Cayrol, becoming gloomy and serious.

Jeanne touched his face slightly with her white hand.

"Come! Don't leave me in a temper! You won't miss me much, you will sleep
all the way. Good-by!"

Cayrol kissed her; in a choking voice, he said:

"Good-by!"

And he left her.

Jeanne's face brightened, as she stood listening for a moment and heard
the carriage which contained her husband rolling away. Uttering a sigh of
relief, she murmured:

"At last!"

CHAPTER XX

THE CRISIS

Jeanne had just taken off her ball-dress to put on a dressing-gown of
Oriental cloth richly embroidered with silk flowers. Leaning her elbows
on the mantelpiece, and breathing heavily, she was waiting. Her maid came
in, bringing a second lamp. The additional light displayed the rich warm
hangings of ruby plu