il this wretched moment I would have died to prove her. Can I, dare
I, trust myself in her presence, with the knowledge of her being but too
impatient for the arrival of that blessed hour which conveys her to her
guilty rendezvous and infamous paramour? Oh, Clemence, Clemence, you in
whom all my hopes and fondest affections were placed, is this a just
return? No! no! no!" again repeated M. d'Harville, with rapidly
returning excitement. "False, treacherous woman! I will not see you! I
will not trust my ears to your feigned words! Nor you, my child. At the
sight of your innocent countenance I should unman myself, and compromise
my just revenge."

Quitting his apartment, M. d'Harville, instead of repairing to those of
the marquise, contented himself with leaving a message for her through
Mlle. Juliette, to the effect that he wished a short conversation with
Madame d'Harville, but that being obliged to go out just then, he should
be glad, if it assorted with Madame la Marquise's perfect convenience,
to breakfast with her at twelve o'clock.

"And so," said the unhappy M. d'Harville, "fancying that after twelve
o'clock I shall be safe at home, she will consider herself more at
liberty to follow out her own plans."

He then repaired to the coach-stand contiguous to his mansion, and
summoned a vehicle from the ranks.

"Now, coachee," said he, affecting to disguise his rank, "what's
o'clock?"

"All right, master," said the man, drawing up to the side of the
footway, "where am I to drive to? Let's have a right understanding, and
a look at the clock. Why, it's as close on half-after eleven as may be."

"Now, then, drive to the corner of the Rue St. Dominique, and wait at
the end of the garden wall which runs along there; do you understand?"

"Yes, yes,--I know."

M. d'Harville then drew down the blinds of the _fiacre_; the coachman
drove on, and soon arrived opposite the Hotel d'Harville, from which
point of observation it was impossible for any person to enter or quit
the house without the marquis having a full view of them. One o'clock
was the hour fixed in the note; and with his eyes riveted on the
entrance-gates of the mansion, the marquis waited in painful suspense,
absorbed in a whirl of fearful thoughts and maddening conjectures. Time
stole on imperceptibly; twelve o'clock reverberated from the dome of St.
Thomas Aquinas, when the door opened slowly at the Hotel d'Harville, and
Madame d'Harville herself came timidl