she desired for her fancied hero, with whom she could
fly from her husband in search of new adventures. And now, of a
sudden, he appeared before her.

"Give Hector your hand, dear," said Sauvresy. She held out her
hand, which Tremorel lightly pressed, and his touch seemed to give
her an electric shock.

Sauvresy threw himself into an arm-chair.

"You see, Bertha," said he, "our friend Hector is exhausted with
the life he has been leading. He has been advised to rest, and
has come to seek it here, with us."

"But, dear," responded Bertha, "aren't you afraid that the count
will be bored a little here?"

"Why?"

"Valfeuillu is very quiet, and we are but dull country folks."

Bertha talked for the sake of talking, to break a silence which
embarrassed her, to make Tremorel speak, and hear his voice. As
she talked she observed him, and studied the impression she made
on him. Her radiant beauty usually struck those who saw her for
the first time with open admiration. He remained impassible. She
recognized the worn-out rake of title, the fast man who has tried,
experienced, exhausted all things, in his coldness and superb
indifference. And because he did not admire her she admired him
the more.

"What a difference," thought she, "between him and that vulgar
Sauvresy, who is surprised at everything, whose face shows all
that he thinks, whose eye betrays what he is going to say before
he opens his mouth."

Bertha was mistaken. Hector was not as cold and indifferent as she
imagined. He was simply wearied, utterly exhausted. He could
scarcely sit up after the terrible excitements of the last
twenty-four hours. He soon asked permission to retire. Sauvresy,
when left alone with his wife, told her all that happened, and the
events which resulted in Tremorel's coming to Valfeuillu; but like
a true friend omitted everything that would cast ridicule upon his
old comrade.

"He's a big child," said he, "a foolish fellow, whose brain is weak
but we'll take care of him and cure him."

Bertha never listened to her husband so attentively before. She
seemed to agree with him, but she really admired Tremorel. Like
Jenny, she was struck with the heroism which could squander a
fortune and then commit suicide.

"Ah!" sighed she, "Sauvresy would not have done it!"

No, Sauvresy was quite a different man from the Count de Tremorel.
The next day he declared his intention to adjust his friend's
affairs. Hector had slept well, having