warming to his work, gave many instances
where the wives of great men had condoned and even encouraged their
husbands' little idiosyncrasies, to the great augmenting of our most
valued literature.

Now and then, as this eloquent man talked, Valdoreme's eyes seemed to
flame dangerously in the shadow, but the woman neither moved nor
interrupted him while he spoke. When he had finished, her voice sounded
cold and unimpassioned, and he felt with relief that the outbreak he
had feared was at least postponed.

"You would advise me then," she began, "to do as the wife of that great
novelist did, and invite my husband and the woman he admires to my
table?"

"Oh, I don't say I could ask you to go so far as that," said Lacour;
"but----"

"I'm no halfway woman. It is all or nothing with me. If I invited my
husband to dine with me, I would also invite this creature--What is her
name? Tenise, you say. Well, I would invite her too. Does she know he
is a married man?"

"Yes," cried Lacour eagerly; "but I assure you, madame, she has nothing
but the kindliest feelings towards you. There is no jealousy about
Tenise."

"How good of her! How very good of her!" said the Russian woman, with
such bitterness that Lacour fancied uneasily that he had somehow made
an injudicious remark, whereas all his efforts were concentrated in a
desire to conciliate and please.

"Very well," said Valdoreme, rising. "You may tell my husband that you
have been successful in your mission. Tell him that I will provide for
them both. Ask them to honour me with their presence at breakfast to-
morrow morning at twelve o'clock. If he wants money, as you say, here
are two hundred francs, which will perhaps be sufficient for his wants
until midday to-morrow."

Lacour thanked her with a profuse graciousness that would have
delighted any ordinary giver, but Valdoreme stood impassive like a
tragedy queen, and seemed only anxious that he should speedily take his
departure, now that his errand was done.

The heart of the poet was filled with joy when he heard from his friend
that at last Valdoreme had come to regard his union with Tenise in the
light of reason. Caspilier, as he embraced Lacour, admitted that
perhaps there was something to be said for his wife after all.

The poet dressed himself with more than usual care on the day of the
feast, and Tenise, who accompanied him, put on some of the finery that
had been bought with Valdoreme's donation. She conf