such heartrending cries that they carried her back to her
seat with infinite care and precaution.

They pronounced a guarded opinion--agreeing, however, that work was an
impossibility to her.

And when Hector brought this news to his wife she sank on a chair,
murmuring:

"It would be better to bring her here; it would cost us less."

He started in amazement.

"Here? In our own house? How can you think of such a thing?"

But she, resigned now to anything, replied with tears in her eyes:

"But what can we do, my love? It's not my fault!"

USELESS BEAUTY

I

About half-past five one afternoon at the end of June when the sun
was shining warm and bright into the large courtyard, a very elegant
victoria with two beautiful black horses drew up in front of the
mansion.

The Comtesse de Mascaret came down the steps just as her husband, who
was coming home, appeared in the carriage entrance. He stopped for a
few moments to look at his wife and turned rather pale. The countess was
very beautiful, graceful and distinguished looking, with her long oval
face, her complexion like yellow ivory, her large gray eyes and her
black hair; and she got into her carriage without looking at him,
without even seeming to have noticed him, with such a particularly
high-bred air, that the furious jealousy by which he had been devoured
for so long again gnawed at his heart. He went up to her and said: "You
are going for a drive?"

She merely replied disdainfully: "You see I am!"

"In the Bois de Boulogne?"

"Most probably."

"May I come with you?"

"The carriage belongs to you."

Without being surprised at the tone in which she answered him, he got
in and sat down by his wife's side and said: "Bois de Boulogne." The
footman jumped up beside the coachman, and the horses as usual pranced
and tossed their heads until they were in the street. Husband and
wife sat side by side without speaking. He was thinking how to begin a
conversation, but she maintained such an obstinately hard look that he
did not venture to make the attempt. At last, however, he cunningly,
accidentally as it were, touched the countess' gloved hand with his own,
but she drew her arm away with a movement which was so expressive of
disgust that he remained thoughtful, in spite of his usual authoritative
and despotic character, and he said: "Gabrielle!"

"What do you want?"

"I think you are looking adorable."

She did not reply, but remained lying