a quiver of surprise at Florine's beauty as she stood there choking with
anger, and superb in her wrath and jealousy.

"There is, somewhere in these rooms," said Vandenesse, "a portfolio, the
key of which you have never had; the letters are probably in it."

"Well, well, for once in my life I am bewildered; you know something
that I have been uneasy about for some days," cried Florine, rushing
into the study in search of the portfolio.

Vandenesse saw that his wife was turning pale beneath her mask.
Florine's apartment revealed more about the intimacy of the actress and
Nathan than any ideal mistress would wish to know. The eye of a woman
can take in the truth of such things in a second, and the countess saw
vestiges of Nathan which proved to her the certainty of what Vandenesse
had said. Florine returned with the portfolio.

"How am I to open it?" she said.

The actress rang the bell and sent into the kitchen for the cook's
knife. When it came she brandished it in the air, crying out in ironical
tones:--

"With this they cut the necks of 'poulets.'"

The words, which made the countess shiver, explained to her, even better
than her husband had done the night before, the depths of the abyss into
which she had so nearly fallen.

"What a fool I am!" said Florine; "his razor will do better."

She fetched one of Nathan's razors from his dressing-table, and slit the
leather cover of the portfolio, through which Marie's letters dropped.
Florine snatched one up hap-hazard, and looked it over.

"Yes, she must be a well-bred woman. It looks to me as if there were no
mistakes in spelling here."

The count gathered up the letters hastily and gave them to his wife, who
took them to a table as if to see that they were all there.

"Now," said Vandenesse to Florine, "will you let me have those letters
for these?" showing her five bank-bills of ten thousand francs each.
"They'll replace the sums you have paid for him."

"Ah!" cried Florine, "didn't I kill myself body and soul in the
provinces to get him money,--I, who'd have cut my hand off to serve
him? But that's men! damn your soul for them and they'll march over you
rough-shod! He shall pay me for this!"

Madame de Vandenesse was disappearing with the letters.

"Hi! stop, stop, my fine mask!" cried Florine; "leave me one to confound
him with."

"Not possible," said Vandenesse.

"Why not?"

"That mask is your ex-rival; but you needn't fear her now."

"Well, sh