me time
two servants came running, aroused by the ringing of the bell. They were
alarmed and bewildered, having seen a stranger sitting on a chair in the
dining-room.

The Count had taken the letter and was turning it over in his fingers,
murmuring: "What is that? I cannot imagine."

"Well, read it, then!" said the Countess, in a fever.

He tore off the envelope, unfolded the paper, uttered an exclamation of
amazement, then looked at his wife with frightened eyes.

"My God! what is it?" said she.

He stammered, hardly able to speak, so great was his emotion: "Oh,
a great misfortune--a great misfortune! Bertin has fallen under a
carriage!"

"Dead?" she cried.

"No, no!" said he; "read for yourself."

She snatched from his hand the letter he held out and read:

"MONSIEUR: A great misfortune has just happened. Your friend, the
eminent artist, M. Olivier Bertin, has been run over by an omnibus,
the wheel of which passed over his body. I cannot as yet say anything
decisive as to the probable result of this accident, which may not be
serious, although it may have an immediate and fatal result. M. Bertin
begs you earnestly and entreats Madame la Comtesse de Guilleroy to come
to him at once. I hope, Monsieur, that Madame la Comtesse and yourself
will grant the desire of our friend in common, who before daylight may
have ceased to live.

"DR. DE RIVIL."

The Countess stared at her husband with great, fixed eyes, full of
terror. Then suddenly she experienced, like an electric shock, an
awakening of that courage which comes to women at times, which makes
them in moments of terror the most valiant of creatures.

Turning to her maid she said: "Quick! I am going to dress."

"What will Madame wear?" asked the servant.

"Never mind that. Anything you like. James," she added, "be ready in
five minutes."

Returning toward her room, her soul overwhelmed, she noticed the cabman,
still waiting, and said to him: "You have your carriage?"

"Yes, Madame."

"That is well; we will take that."

Wildly, with precipitate haste, she threw on her clothes, hooking,
clasping, tying, and fastening at hap-hazard; then, before the mirror,
she lifted and twisted her hair without a semblance of order, gazing
without thinking of what she was doing at the reflection of her pale
face and haggard eyes.

When her cloak was over her shoulders, she rushed to her husband's room,
but he was not yet ready. She dragged him along.

"Come