th a sudden spasmodic movement.
"Remember that you would have to renounce your identity, and in an
authenticated form."

"What?" said the Colonel. "Is not my word enough for you?"

The word "authenticated" fell on the old man's heart, and roused
involuntary distrust. He looked at his wife in a way that made her
color, she cast down her eyes, and he feared that he might find himself
compelled to despise her. The Countess was afraid lest she had scared
the shy modesty, the stern honesty, of a man whose generous temper and
primitive virtues were known to her. Though these feelings had brought
the clouds to her brow, they immediately recovered their harmony. This
was the way of it. A child's cry was heard in the distance.

"Jules, leave your sister in peace," the Countess called out.

"What, are your children here?" said Chabert.

"Yes, but I told them not to trouble you."

The old soldier understood the delicacy, the womanly tact of so gracious
a precaution, and took the Countess' hand to kiss it.

"But let them come," said he.

The little girl ran up to complain of her brother.

"Mamma!"

"Mamma!"

"It was Jules--"

"It was her--"

Their little hands were held out to their mother, and the two childish
voices mingled; it was an unexpected and charming picture.

"Poor little things!" cried the Countess, no longer restraining her
tears, "I shall have to leave them. To whom will the law assign them? A
mother's heart cannot be divided; I want them, I want them."

"Are you making mamma cry?" said Jules, looking fiercely at the Colonel.

"Silence, Jules!" said the mother in a decided tone.

The two children stood speechless, examining their mother and the
stranger with a curiosity which it is impossible to express in words.

"Oh yes!" she cried. "If I am separated from the Count, only leave me my
children, and I will submit to anything..."

This was the decisive speech which gained all that she had hoped from
it.

"Yes," exclaimed the Colonel, as if he were ending a sentence already
begun in his mind, "I must return underground again. I had told myself
so already."

"Can I accept such a sacrifice?" replied his wife. "If some men have
died to save a mistress' honor, they gave their life but once. But
in this case you would be giving your life every day. No, no. It is
impossible. If it were only your life, it would be nothing; but to sign
a declaration that you are not Colonel Chabert, to acknowledge you