aw before her her venerable benefactor, standing with folded arms, his
face pale, his brow stern.

"Madame," he said, after gazing at her fixedly for a moment and
compelling her to blush, "Madame, I do not curse you--I scorn you. I can
now thank the chance that has divided us. I do not feel even a desire
for revenge; I no longer love you. I want nothing from you. Live in
peace on the strength of my word; it is worth more than the scrawl of
all the notaries in Paris. I will never assert my claim to the name I
perhaps have made illustrious. I am henceforth but a poor devil named
Hyacinthe, who asks no more than his share of the sunshine.--Farewell!"

The Countess threw herself at his feet; she would have detained him by
taking his hands, but he pushed her away with disgust, saying:

"Do not touch me!"

The Countess' expression when she heard her husband's retreating steps
is quite indescribable. Then, with the deep perspicacity given only
by utter villainy, or by fierce worldly selfishness, she knew that she
might live in peace on the word and the contempt of this loyal veteran.

Chabert, in fact, disappeared. The dairyman failed in business, and
became a hackney-cab driver. The Colonel, perhaps, took up some similar
industry for a time. Perhaps, like a stone flung into a chasm, he went
falling from ledge to ledge, to be lost in the mire of rags that seethes
through the streets of Paris.

Six months after this event, Derville, hearing no more of Colonel
Chabert or the Comtesse Ferraud, supposed that they had no doubt come
to a compromise, which the Countess, out of revenge, had had arranged by
some other lawyer. So one morning he added up the sums he had advanced
to the said Chabert with the costs, and begged the Comtesse Ferraud to
claim from M. le Comte Chabert the amount of the bill, assuming that she
would know where to find her first husband.

The very next day Comte Ferraud's man of business, lately appointed
President of the County Court in a town of some importance, wrote this
distressing note to Derville:

"MONSIEUR,--

"Madame la Comtesse Ferraud desires me to inform you that your
client took complete advantage of your confidence, and that the
individual calling himself Comte Chabert has acknowledged that he
came forward under false pretences.

"Yours, etc., DELBECQ."

"One comes across people who are, on my honor, too stupid by half,"
cried Derville. "They don't deserve to be Christians