s in your mind?" asked his wife, exhibiting the
deepest anxiety.

"I have come," he answered, slowly, as he threw her the letter, "to
ask myself whether it can be you who have sent me that to avert my
suspicions. Judge, therefore, what I suffer."

"Unhappy man!" said Madame Jules, letting fall the paper. "I pity him;
though he has done me great harm."

"Are you aware that he has spoken to me?"

"Oh! have you been to see him, in spite of your promise?" she cried in
terror.

"Clemence, our love is in danger of perishing; we stand outside of the
ordinary rules of life; let us lay aside all petty considerations
in presence of this great peril. Explain to me why you went out this
morning. Women think they have the right to tell us little falsehoods.
Sometimes they like to hide a pleasure they are preparing for us. Just
now you said a word to me, by mistake, no doubt, a no for a yes."

He went into the dressing-room and brought out the bonnet.

"See," he said, "your bonnet has betrayed you; these spots are
raindrops. You must, therefore, have gone out in a street cab, and these
drops fell upon it as you went to find one, or as you entered or left
the house where you went. But a woman can leave her own home for many
innocent purposes, even after she has told her husband that she did
not mean to go out. There are so many reasons for changing our plans!
Caprices, whims, are they not your right? Women are not required to be
consistent with themselves. You had forgotten something,--a service
to render, a visit, some kind action. But nothing hinders a woman from
telling her husband what she does. Can we ever blush on the breast of a
friend? It is not a jealous husband who speaks to you, my Clemence; it
is your lover, your friend, your brother." He flung himself passionately
at her feet. "Speak, not to justify yourself, but to calm my horrible
sufferings. I know that you went out. Well--what did you do? where did
you go?"

"Yes, I went out, Jules," she answered in a strained voice, though her
face was calm. "But ask me nothing more. Wait; have confidence; without
which you will lay up for yourself terrible remorse. Jules, my Jules,
trust is the virtue of love. I owe to you that I am at this moment too
troubled to answer you: but I am not a false woman; I love you, and you
know it."

"In the midst of all that can shake the faith of man and rouse his
jealousy, for I see I am not first in your heart, I am no longer thine
ow