my dear young lady, the
future will justify my acts. Yes; it was my duty to tell the prince that
you loved another than himself, and to tell you that he loved another
than yourself--all in your mutual interest. That my attachment for you
may have misled me, is possible--I am not infallible; but, after my past
conduct towards you, my dear young lady, I have, perhaps, some right to
be astonished at seeing myself thus treated. This is not a complaint. If
I never justify myself, I never complain either."

"Now really, there is something heroic in all this, my good sir," said
the count. "You do not condescend to complain or justify yourself, with
regard to the evil you have done."

"The evil I have done?" said Rodin, looking fixedly at the count. "Are
we playing at enigmas?"

"What, sir!" cried the count, with indignation: "is it nothing, by your
falsehoods, to have plunged the prince into so frightful a state of
despair, that he has twice attempted his life? Is it nothing, by similar
falsehoods, to have induced this lady to believe so cruel and complete
an error, that but for the resolution I have to-day taken, it might have
led to the most fatal consequences?"

"And will you do me the honor to tell me, sir, what interest I could
have in all this despair and error, admitting even that I had wished to
produce them?"

"Some great interest no doubt," said the count, bluntly; "the more
dangerous that it is concealed. You are one of those, I see, to whom the
woes of others are pleasure and profit."

"That is really too much, sir," said Rodin, bowing; "I should be quite
contented with the profit."

"Your impudent coolness will not deceive me; this is a serious matter,"
said the count. "It is impossible that so perfidious a piece of roguery
can be an isolated act. Who knows but this may still be one of the
fruits of Madame de Saint-Dizier's hatred for Mdlle. de Cardoville?"

Adrienne had listened to the preceding discussion with deep attention.
Suddenly she started, as if struck by a sudden revelation.

After a moment's silence, she said to Rodin, without anger, without
bitterness, but with an expression of gentle and serene calmness: "We
are told, sir, that happy love works miracles. I should be tempted
to believe it; for, after some minutes' reflection, and when I recall
certain circumstances, your conduct appears to me in quite a new light."

"And what may this new perspective be, my dear young lady?"

"That you m