, claimed particular attention. The binding, unlike
those of the other books, was less rich than dainty. Lying by itself at
a corner of the table, it was open, with the back turned up, the edges
of the leaves resting on the green table-cloth in the shape of a tent.
La Peyrade took it up, being careful not to lose the page which it
seemed to have been some one's intention to mark. It proved to be
a volume of the illustrated edition of Monsieur Scribe's works. The
engraving which presented itself on the open page to la Peyrade's eyes,
was entitled "The Hatred of a Woman"; the principal personage of which
is a young widow, desperately pursuing a poor young man who cannot help
himself. There is hatred all round. Through her devilries she almost
makes him lose his reputation, and does make him miss a rich marriage;
but the end is that she gives him more than she took away from him, and
makes a husband of the man who was thought her victim.

If chance had put this volume apart from the rest, and had left it open
at the precise page where la Peyrade found it marked, it must be owned
that, after what had passed between himself and the countess, chance can
sometimes seem clever and adroit. As he stood there, thinking over the
significance which this more or less accidental combination might have,
la Peyrade read through a number of scenes to see whether in the details
as well as the general whole they applied to the present situation.
While thus employed, the sound of an opening door was heard, and he
recognized the silvery and slightly drawling voice of the countess, who
was evidently accompanying some visitor to the door.

"Then I may promise the ambassadress," said a man's voice, "that you
will honor her ball with your presence?"

"Yes, commander, if my headache, which is just beginning to get a little
better, is kind enough to go away."

"Au revoir, then, fairest lady," said the gentleman. After which the
doors were closed, and silence reigned once more.

The title of commander reassured la Peyrade somewhat, for it was not
the rank of a young dandy. He was nevertheless curious to know who this
personage was with whom the countess had been shut up so long. Hearing
no one approach the room he was in, he went to the window and opened the
curtain cautiously, prepared to let it drop back at the slightest noise,
and to make a quick right-about-face to avoid being caught, "flagrante
delicto," in curiosity. An elegant coupe, sta