then, for the smile on the lips,--there
are so many sorts of smiles! But who can distinguish the false from the
true? Who can peep beneath the false mask, and say, 'That laugh hides a
dark despair, that noisy gaiety conceals a thought of death?' Who could
guess that? No one,--fortunately, no one,--no one! Ah, yes, love would
never be mistaken; his instinct would enlighten him. But I hear my
wife,--my wife! Now, then, sinister actor, play thy part."

Clemence entered M. d'Harville's apartment.

"Good morrow, dear brother Albert," she said, in a tone full of
sweetness. Then, observing the smiling expression of her husband's
countenance, "But what is it, my dear, that gives you such a smiling
air?"

"It was because, when you entered, my dear sister, I was thinking of
you, and, moreover, I was under the influence of an excellent
resolution."

"That does not surprise me."

"What took place yesterday,--your extreme generosity, the prince's noble
conduct,--has given me much food for reflection, and I am
converted,--entirely converted to your ideas."

"Indeed! That is a happy change!" exclaimed Madame d'Harville. "Ah! I
was sure that, when I appealed to your heart, to your reason, you would
understand me; and now I have no doubt about the future."

"Nor I either, Clemence, I assure you. Yes, since my resolution last
night, the future, which seemed so vague and sombre, is singularly
brightened and simplified."

"Nothing can be more natural, my dear. Now we both go towards the same
end, like a brother and sister, mutually dependent on each other; at the
end of our career we shall find each other what we are to-day. The
feeling will be unalterable. In a word, I wish you to be happy; and you
shall be, for I have resolved it there," said Clemence, placing her
finger on her forehead. Then she added, with charming emphasis, lowering
her hand to her heart, "No, I mistake, it is here. That is the good
thought that will watch over you incessantly, and myself also; and you
shall see, my brother, in what the obstinacy of a devoted heart
consists."

"Dear Clemence!" said M. d'Harville with repressed emotion; then, after
a moment's silence, he continued, in a gay tone:

"I sent to beg you to come here before you went out, to tell you that I
could not take tea with you this morning. I have some friends to
breakfast,--a sort of impromptu,--to celebrate the fortunate result of a
duel of poor Lucenay, who, by the way, was only very