ds."

As he spoke the doctor watched her narrowly. The Countess crossed the
room, faint and dizzy, and rested her head on the mantelpiece.

"And that is all?" asked she. "What you ask me to do is utterly
impossible: and perhaps it is for the best, for I shall have no long
agony of suspense to endure. Go, doctor, and tell the villain who holds
my letters that he can take them to the Count at once."

The Countess spoke in such a decided tone that Hortebise was a little
puzzled.

"Can it be true," she continued, "that scoundrels exist in our country
who are viler than the most cowardly murderers,--men who trade in the
shameful secrets that they have learned, and batten upon the money
they earn by their odious trade? I heard of such creatures before, but
declined to believe it; for I said to myself that such an idea only
existed in the unhealthy imaginations of novel writers. It seems,
however that I was in error; but do not let these villains rejoice too
soon; they will reap but a scanty harvest. There is one asylum left for
me where they cannot molest me."

"Ah, madame!" exclaimed the doctor in imploring accents; but she paid no
attention to his remonstrances, and went on with increasing violence,--

"Do the miserable wretches think that I fear death? For years I
have prayed for it as a final mercy from the heaven I have so deeply
offended. I long for the quiet of the sepulchre. You are surprised at
hearing one like me speak in this way,--one who has all her life been
admired and flattered,--I, Diana de Laurebourg, Countess de Mussidan.
Even in the hours of my greatest triumphs my soul shuddered at the
thought of the grim spectre hidden away in the past; and I wished that
death would come and relieve my sufferings. My eccentricities have often
surprised my friends, who asked if sometimes I were not a little mad.
Mad? Yes, I am mad! They do not know that I seek oblivion in excitement,
and that I dare not be alone. But I have learned by this time that I
must stifle the voice of conscience."

She spoke like a woman utterly bereft of hope, who had resolved on the
final sacrifice. Her clear voice rang through the room, and Hortebise
turned pale as he heard the footsteps of the servants pacing to and fro
outside the door, as they made preparations for dinner.

"All my life has been one continual struggle," resumed she,--"a struggle
which has cost me sore; but now all is over, and to-night, for the first
time for many y