iced that her
husband's attention seemed to be fixed upon a volume of Lord Byron's
poems.

Bergenheim threw the book on the table, raised his head and gazed
calmly at his wife. In spite of all his efforts, his face had assumed
an expression which would have frightened her if she had noticed it, but
her eyes were fastened upon the cup which he was twisting in his hand as
if it were made of clay.

"Mon Dieu! Christian, what is the matter with you? What are you doing
to my poor cup?" she asked, with surprise mingled with a little of that
fright which is so prompt to be aroused if one feels not above reproach.

He arose and put the misshapen bronze upon the table.

"I do not know what ails me to-night," said he, "my nerves are unstrung.
I will leave you, for I need rest myself. I shall start to-morrow
morning before you are up, and I shall return Wednesday."

"Not any later, I hope," she said, with that soft, sweet voice, from
which, in such circumstances, very few women have the loyalty to
abstain.

He went out without replying, for he feared he might be no longer master
of himself; he felt, when offered this hypocritical, almost criminal,
caress, as if he would like to end it all by killing her on the spot.

CHAPTER XXII. THE CRISIS

Twenty-four hours had passed. The Baron had departed early in the
morning, and so had all his guests, with the exception of Gerfaut and
the artist. The day passed slowly and tediously. Aline had been vexed,
somewhat estranged from her sister-in-law since their conversation in
the little parlor. Mademoiselle de Corandeuil was entirely occupied in
restoring her poodle to health.

Marillac, who had been drinking tea ever since rising, dared not present
his face, which showed the effects of his debauch of the night before,
to the mistress of the house, whose exacting and aristocratic austerity
he very much feared. He pretended to be ill, in order to delay the
moment when he should be forced to make his appearance. Madame de
Bergenheim did not leave her aunt, and thus avoided being alone with
Octave--who, on account of these different complications, might have
spent a continual tete-a-tete with her had she been so inclined.
Christian's absence, instead of being a signal of deliverance for the
lovers, seemed to have created a new misunderstanding, for Clemence
felt that it would be a mean action to abuse the liberty her husband's
departure gave her. She was thus very reserved durin