ny letter from the count, save
a few hurried lines written from Magdeburg; and I remarked that the
countess betrayed at times a degree of anxiety and agitation I had
not observed in her before. At last the secret cause came out. We were
sitting together in the park, eating ice after dinner, when she suddenly
rose and prepared to leave the place.

'Has anything happened to annoy you?' said I hurriedly. 'Why are you
going?'

'I can bear it no longer!' cried she, as she drew her veil down and
hastened forward, and without speaking another word, continued her way
towards the hotel. On reaching her apartments, she burst into a torrent
of tears, and sobbed most violently.

'What is it?' said I, having followed her, maddened by the sight of such
sorrow. 'For heaven's sake tell me! Has any one dared----'

'No, no,' replied she, wiping the tears away with her handkerchief,
'nothing of the kind. It is the state of doubt, of trying, harassing
uncertainty I am reduced to here, which is breaking my heart. Don't
you see that whenever I appear in public, by the air of insufferable
impudence of the men, and the still more insulting looks of the women,
how they dare to think of me? I have borne it as well as I was able
hitherto; I can do so no longer.'

'What!' cried I impetuously, 'and shall one dare to----'

'The world will always dare what may be dared in safety,' interrupted
she, laying her hand on my arm. 'They know that you could not make
a quarrel on my account without compromising my honour; and such an
occasion to trample on a poor weak woman could not be lost. Well, well;
Gustav may write to-morrow or next day. A little more patience; and it
is the only cure for these evils.'

There was a tone of angelic sweetness in her voice as she spoke these
words of resignation, and never did she seem more lovely in my eyes.

'Now, then, as I shall not go to the opera, what shall we do to pass
the time? You are tired--I know you are--of Polish melodies and German
ballads. Well, well; then I am. I have told you that we Poles are as
great gamblers as yourselves. What say you to a game at piquet?'

'By all means,' said I, delighted at the prospect of anything to while
away the hours of her sorrowing.

'Then you must teach me,' rejoined she, laughing, 'for I don't know it.
I'm wretchedly stupid about all these things, and never could learn any
game but _ecarte_.'

'Then ecarte be it,' said I; and in a few minutes more I had arran