ionately, you know, without
any anger, like a woman who plays with love."

"All right; leave us alone," said Juliette. "We know all about it."

At last, when they had heard him close his study door, she began once
more: "Ernestine, I adore you!"

Prior to his departure Henri had saluted Helene with the same slight
bow. She sat dumb, as though awaiting some catastrophe. The sudden
appearance of the husband had seemed to her ominous; but when he had
gone, his courtesy and evident blindness made him seem to her
ridiculous. So he also gave attention to this idiotic comedy! And
there was no loving fire in his eye as he looked at her sitting there!
The whole house had become hateful and cold to her. Here was a
downfall; there was nothing to restrain her any longer, for she
abhorred Henri as much as Juliette. Within her pocket she held the
letter in her convulsive grasp. At last, murmuring "Good-bye for the
present," she quitted the room, her head swimming and the furniture
seeming to dance around her. And in her ears rang these words, uttered
by Madame de Guiraud:

"Adieu. You will perhaps think badly of me to-day, but you will have
some kindly feeling for me to-morrow, and, believe me, that is much
better than a caprice."

When Helene had shut the house door and reached the pavement, she drew
the letter with a violent, almost mechanical gesture from her pocket,
and dropped it into the letter-box. Then she stood motionless for a
few seconds, still dazed, her eyes glaring at the narrow brass plate
which had fallen back again in its place.

"It is done," she exclaimed in a whisper.

Once more she pictured the rooms hung with pink cretonne. Malignon and
Juliette were there together; but all of a sudden the wall was riven
open, and the husband entered. She was conscious of no more, and a
great calm fell on her. Instinctively she looked around to see if any
one had observed her dropping the letter in the box. But the street
was deserted. Then she turned the corner and went back home.

"Have you been good, my darling?" she asked as she kissed Jeanne.

The child, still seated on the same chair, raised a gloomy face
towards her, and without answering threw both arms around her neck,
and kissed her with a great gasp. Her grief indeed had been intense.

At lunch-time Rosalie seemed greatly surprised. "Madame surely went
for a long walk!" said she.

"Why do you think so?" asked Helene.

"Because madame is eating with such