she had never relaxed, she could not fail to see the
changed nature of the intercourse between Camors and the Marquise. It
must not be forgotten that she dreamed of securing for her son
Sigismund the succession to her old friend; and she foresaw a dangerous
rivalry--the germ of which she sought to destroy. To awaken the distrust
of the General toward Camors, so as to cause his doors to be closed
against him, was all she meditated. But her anonymous letter, like most
villainies of this kind, was a more fatal and murderous weapon than its
base author imagined.

The young Marquise, then, mused while stirring the fire, casting, from
time to time, a furtive glance at the clock.

M. de Camors would soon arrive--how could she warn him? In the present
state of their relations it was not impossible that the very first words
of. Camors might immediately divulge their secret: and once betrayed,
there was not only for her personal dishonor, a scandalous fall,
poverty, a convent--but for her husband or her lover--perhaps for
both--death!

When the bell in the lower court sounded, announcing the Count's
approach, these thoughts crowded into the brain of the Marquise like a
legion of phantoms. But she rallied her courage by a desperate effort
and strained all her faculties to the execution of the plan she had
hastily conceived, which was her last hope. And one word, one gesture,
one mistake, or one carelessness of her lover, might overthrow it in a
second. A moment later the door was opened by a servant, announcing
M. de Camors. Without speaking, she signed to her husband to gain his
hiding-place. The General, who had risen at the sound of the bell,
seemed still to hesitate, but shrugging his shoulders, as if in disdain
of himself, retired behind the curtain which faced the door.

M. de Camors entered the room carelessly, and advanced toward the
fireplace where sat the Marquise; his smiling lips half opened to
speak, when he was struck by the peculiar expression on the face of the
Marquise, and the words were frozen on his lips. This look, fixed upon
him from his entrance, had a strange, weird intensity, which, without
expressing anything, made him fear everything. But he was accustomed to
trying situations, and as wary and prudent as he was intrepid. He ceased
to smile and did not speak, but waited.

She gave him her hand without ceasing to look at him with the same
alarming intensity.

"Either she is mad," he said to himself