hing loudly.

Midnight had long passed, sleep had not visited me, and when morning
approached I had not even undressed, and I walked up and down the room
in great agitation. What a night! What had I learned? I was not able
to believe so atrocious and revolting a crime. An innocent and
virtuous wife, who had never offended her husband, plunged into prison
and everlasting disgrace; the husband abusing his friend by making him
accomplish his hellish designs, and innocence tortured with pangs more
bitter than death?

I felt some relief, however, in the hope that Bertollon only wished to
test my friendship. For, if he really had acted so atrociously, how
could he venture to let another glass of wine pass his lips, since
every drop threatened to disclose his secret; how could he so
shamelessly reveal himself in all his atrocity, either to a villain or
to an honourable man?

But I hoped in vain to deceive myself; his expressions respecting me
and his unfortunate wife, and his former willingness to resign her to
me, made all but too true. His early plans were now becoming clearly
developed in the misty distance. I recollected many expressions which
he had used, and that he himself favoured my intercourse with Madame
Bertollon, and refused to become suspicious of our intimacy. And when
he spoke of the vehemence and reserve of her disposition, he probably
then conceived designs of charging her with this crime.

The morning had dawned, and I was still undecided as to what I should
do. Innocence must be saved, but her safety must be the ruin of my
benefactor, my first and only friend; only an excess of love for me had
elicited the horrible secret. Should I go and betray him? He was the
author of my happiness; should the hand which had received innumerable
benefits from him, plunge him ungratefully into an unfathomable abyss?
Should I lose him whom I still loved, the only one who loved me?
"Unhappy series of events," I sighed, "must I become the instrument of
fettering innocence, or of sacrificing the life of my benefactor?"

But my conscience cried, "Be just before you wish to be kind! Whatever
consequences may attend the actions which we perform, from duty,--nay,
even did they involve the destruction of ourselves--nothing should
hinder us when virtue is at stake. Return to your poverty, go solitary
and cheerfully through life, only save your peace of mind and carry
with you a quiet conscience. You did what justi