to the
mutual suffering they had undergone; the suffering no longer existed.
They were silent for some time, happy to look at each other, to be
together and alone-for the old aunt still slept. Not a sound was to be
heard; one would have said that sleep had overcome the two lovers
also. Suddenly the charm was broken by a terrible noise, like a trumpet
calling the guilty ones to repentance.

CHAPTER XVII. A RUDE INTERRUPTION

Had a cannon-ball struck the two lovers in the midst of their ecstasy
it would have been less cruel than the sensation caused by this horrible
noise. Clemence trembled and fell back in her chair, frozen with horror.
Gerfaut rose, almost as frightened as she; Mademoiselle de Corandeuil,
aroused from her sleep, sat up in her chair as suddenly as a
Jack-in-a-box that jumps in one's face when a spring is touched. As
to Constance, she darted under her mistress's chair, uttering the most
piteous howls.

One of the folding-doors opposite the window opened; the bell of a
hunting-horn appeared in the opening, blown at full blast and waking the
echoes in the drawing-room. The curtain of the drama had risen upon a
parody, a second incident had changed the pantomime and sentiments of
the performers. The old lady fell back in her chair and stopped up her
ears with her fingers, as she stamped upon the floor; but it was in vain
for her to try to speak, her words were drowned by the racket made by
this terrible instrument. Clemence also stopped her ears. After running
in her terror, under every chair in the room, Constance, half wild,
darted, in a fit of despair, through the partly opened door. Gerfaut
finally began to laugh heartily as if he thought it all great fun, for
M. de Bergenheim's purple face took the place of the trumpet and his
hearty laugh rang out almost as noisily.

"Ah! ha! you did not expect that kind of accompaniment," said the Baron,
when his gayety had calmed a little; "this is the article that you were
obliged to write for the Revue de Paris, is it? Do you think that I am
going to leave you to sing Italian duets with Madame while I am scouring
the woods? You must take me for a very careless husband, Vicomte. Now,
then, right about face! March! Do me the kindness to take a gun. We are
going to shoot a few hares in the Corne woods before supper."

"Monsieur de Bergenheim," exclaimed the old lady, when her emotion would
allow her to speak, "this is indecorous--vulgar--the conduct of a c