eping over our
ruin; you were mistaken. While one is young and strong as we are, such
cowardly conduct is not permissible. We are armed against want and can
fight it face to face. No, I was weeping for our departed happiness,
for you, for the madness that led you to throw away your only, your true
friend."

She was lovely, lovelier than Sidonie had ever been, as she spoke thus,
enveloped by a pure light which seemed to fall upon her from a great
height, like the radiance of a fathomless, cloudless sky; whereas the
other's irregular features had always seemed to owe their brilliancy,
their saucy, insolent charm to the false glamour of the footlights
in some cheap theatre. The touch of statuesque immobility formerly
noticeable in Claire's face was vivified by anxiety, by doubt, by all
the torture of passion; and like those gold ingots which have their full
value only when the Mint has placed its stamp upon them, those beautiful
features stamped with the effigy of sorrow had acquired since the
preceding day an ineffaceable expression which perfected their beauty.

Georges gazed at her in admiration. She seemed to him more alive, more
womanly, and worthy of adoration because of their separation and all
the obstacles that he now knew to stand between them. Remorse, despair,
shame entered his heart simultaneously with this new love, and he would
have fallen on his knees before her.

"No, no, do not kneel," said Claire; "if you knew of what you remind me,
if you knew what a lying face, distorted with hatred, I saw at my feet
last night!"

"Ah! but I am not lying," replied Georges with a shudder. "Claire, I
implore you, in the name of our child--"

At that moment some one knocked at the door.

"Rise, I beg of you! You see that life has claims upon us," she said in
a low voice and with a bitter smile; then she asked what was wanted.

Monsieur Risler had sent for Monsieur to come down to the office.

"Very well," she said; "say that he will come."

Georges approached the door, but she stopped him.

"No, let me go. He must not see you yet."

"But--"

"I wish you to stay here. You have no idea of the indignation and wrath
of that poor man, whom you have deceived. If you had seen him last
night, crushing his wife's wrists!"

As she said it she looked him in the face with a curiosity most cruel to
herself; but Georges did not wince, and replied simply:

"My life belongs to him."

"It belongs to me, too; and I do no