crushed with grief. He burst out sobbing, embraced her
with tender, passionate kisses, more lovingly than he had ever done in
the past. He murmured in a broken voice:

"No, no, you shall not die! You shall get better! We shall love each
other for ever--for ever!"

She said in faint tones:

"Then it is true. You do love me, after all?"

And he, in his sorrow for her misfortunes, swore, promised to wait till
she had recovered, and full of loving pity, kissed again and again the
emaciated hands of the poor woman whose heart was panting with feverish,
irregular pulsations.

The next day he returned to the garrison.

Six weeks later she went to meet him, quite old-looking, unrecognizable,
and more enamored than ever.

In his condition of mental prostration, he consented to live with her.
Then, when they remained together as if they had been legally united,
the same colonel who had displayed indignation with him for abandoning
her, objected to this irregular connection as being incompatible with
the good example officers ought to give in a regiment. He warned the
lieutenant on the subject, and then furiously denounced his conduct, so
Renoldi retired from the army.

He went to live in a village on the shore of the Mediterranean, the
classic sea of lovers.

And three years passed. Renoldi, bent under the yoke, was vanquished,
and became accustomed to the woman's persevering devotion. His hair had
now turned white.

He looked upon himself as a man done for, gone under. Henceforth, he had
no hope, no ambition, no satisfaction in life, and he looked forward to
no pleasure in existence.

But one morning a card was placed in his hand, with the name--"Joseph
Poincot, Shipowner, Havre."

The husband! The husband, who had said nothing, realizing that there was
no use in struggling against the desperate obstinacy of women. What did
he want?

He was waiting in the garden, having refused to come into the house. He
bowed politely, but would not sit down, even on a bench in a
gravel-path, and he commenced talking clearly and slowly.

"Monsieur, I did not come here to address reproaches to you. I know too
well how things happened. I have been the victim of--we have been the
victims of--a kind of fatality. I would never have disturbed you in your
retreat if the situation had not changed. I have two daughters,
Monsieur. One of them, the elder, loves a young man, and is loved by
him. But the family of this young man is oppos