had paid her any attention, it was because he was
acting in obedience to the whims of another woman. Suppose a lover was
with her now, what right had he to interfere? The law gave him leave,
but what did his conscience say? He leaned against the chill stone until
he almost became as cold as it was. It seemed to him at that moment that
life and hope were rapidly drifting away from him. He had lost all count
of how long he had been on guard. He pulled out his watch, but it was
too dark to distinguish the hands or the figures on the dial-plate. A
neighboring clock struck the half-hour, but this gave him no clue as
to the time. He had almost made up his mind to leave, when he heard the
sound of a quick step coming down the street. It was the light, quick
step of a sportsman,--of a man more accustomed to the woods and fields
than the pavement and asphalt of Paris. Then a shadow fell upon the
opposite wall, and almost immediately disappeared. Then Norbert knew
that the door had opened and closed, and that the man had entered the
garden. There could be no doubt upon this point, and yet the Duke would
have given worlds to be able to disbelieve the evidence of his senses.
It might be a burglar, but burglars seldom work alone; or it might be
a visitor to one of the servants, but all the servants were absent. He
again raised his eyes to the windows of his wife's room. All of a sudden
the light grew brighter; either the lamp had been turned up, or fresh
candles lighted. Yes, it was a candle, for he saw it borne across the
room in the direction of the great staircase, and now he saw that the
anonymous letter had spoken the truth, and that he was on the brink of a
discovery. A lover had entered the garden, and the lighted candle was a
signal to him. Norbert shuddered; the blood seemed to course through
his veins like streams of molten fire, and the misty atmosphere that
surrounded him appeared to stifle him. He ran across the street, forced
the lock, and rushed wildly into the garden.

CHAPTER XVI.

HUSBAND AND LOVER.

The writer of the anonymous communication had only known the secret too
well, for the Duchess de Champdoce was awaiting a visit that evening
from George de Croisenois; this was, however, the first time. Step by
step she had yielded, and at length had fallen into the snare laid for
her by the treacherous woman whom she believed to be her truest friend.
The evening before this eventful night she had been alone in