ysician compared to the warning and
confidences whispered by destiny into the ear of certain women? In the
neighborhood the arrival of my child was quickly known. 'Your travellers
have returned,' they said. They asked few questions, for they readily
saw that I was unhappy. They noticed that the count was not with us,
that Madeleine and her mother never went out; and very soon I found
myself met with compassionate glances that were harder to bear than
anything else. My daughter had not confided to me that a child would
be born from this disastrous union, but sat sewing day after day,
ornamenting the dainty garments, which are the joy and pride of mothers,
with ribbons and lace; I fancied, however, that she looked at them with
feelings of shame, for the least allusion to the man who had deceived
her made her turn pale. But my wife, who saw things with clearer vision
than my own, said, 'You are mistaken: she loves him still.'

"Yes, she loved, and strong as was her contempt and distrust, her love
was stronger still. It was this that killed her, for she died soon after
Cecile's birth. We found under her pillow a letter, worn in all its
folds, the only one she had ever received from Nadine, written before
their marriage. She had read it often, but she died without once
pronouncing the name that I am sure trembled all the time on her lips.

"You are astonished that in a tranquil village like this a complicated
drama could have been enacted, such as would seem possible only in the
crowded cities of London and Paris. When fate thus attacks, by chance as
it were, a little corner so sheltered by hedges and trees, I am reminded
of those spent balls which during a battle kill a laborer at work in
the fields, or a child returning from school. I think if we had not had
little Cecile, my wife would have died with her daughter. Her life from
that hour was one long silence, full of regrets and self-reproach.

"But it was necessary to bring up this child, and to keep her in
ignorance of the circumstances of her birth. This was a matter of
difficulty; it is true that we were relieved of her father, who died a
few months after his condemnation. Unfortunately, several persons knew
the whole story; and we wished to preserve Cecile from all the gossip
she would hear if she associated with other children. You saw how
solitary her life was. Thanks to this precaution, she to-day knows
nothing of the tempest that surrounded her birth; for not on