-"

"Allow me, Monsieur Derville," said the Countess to the lawyer. "You
must give me leave to retire. I did not come here to listen to such
dreadful things."

She rose and went out. Derville rushed after her; but the Countess had
taken wings, and seemed to have flown from the place.

On returning to his private room, he found the Colonel in a towering
rage, striding up and down.

"In those times a man took his wife where he chose," said he. "But I was
foolish and chose badly; I trusted to appearances. She has no heart."

"Well, Colonel, was I not right to beg you not to come?--I am now
positive of your identity; when you came in, the Countess gave a little
start, of which the meaning was unequivocal. But you have lost your
chances. Your wife knows that you are unrecognizable."

"I will kill her!"

"Madness! you will be caught and executed like any common wretch.
Besides you might miss! That would be unpardonable. A man must not miss
his shot when he wants to kill his wife.--Let me set things straight;
you are only a big child. Go now. Take care of yourself; she is capable
of setting some trap for you and shutting you up in Charenton. I will
notify her of our proceedings to protect you against a surprise."

The unhappy Colonel obeyed his young benefactor, and went away,
stammering apologies. He slowly went down the dark staircase, lost in
gloomy thoughts, and crushed perhaps by the blow just dealt him--the
most cruel he could feel, the thrust that could most deeply pierce
his heart--when he heard the rustle of a woman's dress on the lowest
landing, and his wife stood before him.

"Come, monsieur," said she, taking his arm with a gesture like those
familiar to him of old. Her action and the accent of her voice, which
had recovered its graciousness, were enough to allay the Colonel's
wrath, and he allowed himself to be led to the carriage.

"Well, get in!" said she, when the footman had let down the step.

And as if by magic, he found himself sitting by his wife in the
brougham.

"Where to?" asked the servant.

"To Groslay," said she.

The horses started at once, and carried them all across Paris.

"Monsieur," said the Countess, in a tone of voice which betrayed one of
those emotions which are rare in our lives, and which agitate every part
of our being. At such moments the heart, fibres, nerves, countenance,
soul, and body, everything, every pore even, feels a thrill. Life
no longer seems to be within