ing on the box and the heyduke was close to the carriage in order to
steady it over the more difficult places.

A voice within her reproached her for hating this man so long--how could
she have done it? He had always been delicacy itself towards her, he had
never demanded anything of her, and no doubt the reason why he had held
back from his young wife for a time was because he would not importune
her with his presence--her who had now learnt to recognize him as her
sole protector!

After a vast amount of jolting and tumbling about, they got at last on
to a regular road again. Here the baron halted the coach and looked
inside it. When he saw that Henrietta was awake, he asked her if she
wanted anything, and whether she would allow him to sit down beside her.

Henrietta had resolved to tell her husband everything at the very first
question, everything, even to her most secret enthusiasms; nay, even
that which God alone could read in her heart. But Hatszegi gave her no
opportunity of doing so.

"My dear Henrietta," said he, "don't imagine for a moment that I shall
trouble my head as to how you came into possession of that mysterious
jewelry, or why you should have chosen them out of all your bijous to
wear on this particular evening. I have charged myself with all the
responsibility in the matter. I could not think of anything more
appropriate to say at the moment. Only one thing I beg of you: tell me
no lies. Act as if you had received the jewelry from me. I will so
arrange the matter that nothing more will be heard about it. Such things
may happen to anybody. The only awkwardness about the business is that
the things were recognized in such a public place, and that the former
possessor of the ornaments is so extremely nervous. Don't be afraid!
Give me your hand! Why do you tremble so? I'll guarantee that there
shall be no unpleasant consequences for you. In case, however, you did
not receive this jewelry from your dear grandfather, I ought, I think,
to write to the good old man and put his mind at ease by letting him
know that I gave it you, as goodness only knows what Rumour may whisper
in his ear."

Could any man have asked his wife for a confession more tenderly?

"Shall I write to him?"

"Yes, write," said Henrietta, and with that she fell upon her husband's
bosom and began to sob bitterly--and a husband's breast is no bad place
for a wife's flowing tears.

Henrietta was forced to confess to herself that he