ler to kill them.
He might go in, fire a revolver at them, and they would not have
time to comprehend it, for their agony would be but for a moment;
and then? Then, he must become a prisoner, submit to a trial,
invoke the judge's mercy, and risk conviction. As to turning his
wife out of doors, that was to hand her over quietly to Hector. He
imagined them leaving Valfeuillu, hand in hand, happy and smiling,
and laughing in his face. At this thought he had a fit of cold
rage; his self-esteem adding the sharpest pains to the wounds in
his heart. None of these vulgar methods could satisfy him. He
longed for some revenge unheard-of, strange, monstrous, as his
tortures were. Then he thought of all the horrible tales he had
read, seeking one to his purpose; he had a right to be particular,
and he was determined to wait until he was satisfied. There was
only one thing that could balk his progress--Jenny's letter. What
had become of it? Had he lost it in the woods? He had looked for
it everywhere, and could not find it.

He accustomed himself, however, to feign, finding a sort of fierce
pleasure in the constraint. He learned to assume a countenance
which completely hid his thoughts. He submitted to his wife's
caresses without an apparent shudder; and shook Hector by the hand
as heartily as ever. In the evening, when they were gathered about
the drawing-room table, he was the gayest of the three. He built
a hundred air-castles, pictured a hundred pleasure-parties, when
he was able to go abroad again. Hector rejoiced at his returning
health.

"Clement is getting on finely," said he to Bertha, one evening.

She understood only too well what he meant.

"Always thinking of Laurence?"

"Did you not permit me to hope?"

"I asked you to wait, Hector, and you have done well not to be in
a hurry. I know a young girl who would bring you, not one, but
three millions as dowry."

This was a painful surprise. He really had no thoughts for anyone
but Laurence, and now a new obstacle presented itself.

"And who is that?"

She leaned over, and whispered tremblingly in his ear:

"I am Clement's sole heiress; perhaps he'll die; I might be a widow
to-morrow."

Hector was petrified.

"But Sauvresy, thank God! is getting well fast."

Bertha fixed her large, clear eyes upon him, and with frightful
calmness said:

"What do you know about it?"

Tremorel dared not ask what these strange words meant. He was one
of those men who shun