" was enough to throw the count
into convulsions; and he suspected his son of liberalism, ever since
reading an article by the viscount, published in the "Revue des Deux
Mondes."

His ideas, however, did not prevent his fully sustaining his rank. He
spent most nobly on the world the revenue which placed his father and
himself a little above it. His establishment, distinct from the count's,
was arranged as that of a wealthy young gentleman's ought to be. His
liveries left nothing to be desired; and his horses and equipages were
celebrated. Letters of invitation were eagerly sought for to the grand
hunting parties, which he formed every year towards the end of October
at Commarin,--an admirable piece of property, covered with immense
woods.

Albert's love for Claire--a deep, well-considered love--had contributed
not a little to keep him from the habits and life of the pleasant and
elegant idleness indulged in by his friends. A noble attachment is
always a great safeguard. In contending against it, M. de Commarin had
only succeeded in increasing its intensity and insuring its continuance.
This passion, so annoying to the count, was the source of the most
vivid, the most powerful emotions in the viscount. Ennui was banished
from his existence.

All his thoughts took the same direction; all his actions had but one
aim. Could he look to the right or the left, when, at the end of his
journey, he perceived the reward so ardently desired? He resolved that
he would never have any wife but Claire; his father absolutely refused
his consent. The effort to change this refusal had long been the
business of his life. Finally, after three years of perseverance, he
had triumphed; the count had given his consent. And now, just as he was
reaping the happiness of success, Noel had arrived, implacable as fate,
with his cursed letters.

On leaving M. de Commarin, and while slowly mounting the stairs which
led to his apartments, Albert's thoughts reverted to Claire. What was
she doing at that moment? Thinking of him no doubt. She knew that the
crisis would come that very evening, or the next day at the latest. She
was probably praying. Albert was thoroughly exhausted; his head felt
dizzy, and seemed ready to burst. He rang for his servant, and ordered
some tea.

"You do wrong in not sending for the doctor, sir," said Lubin, his
valet. "I ought to disobey you, and send for him myself."

"It would be useless," replied Albert sadly; "he c