ette's eyes.

"And, dear count," I continued, "if by chance a woman is involuntarily
subjected to feelings other than those society imposes on her, you must
admit that the more irresistible that feeling is, the more virtuous she
is in smothering it, in sacrificing herself to her husband and children.
This theory is not applicable to me who unfortunately show an example to
the contrary, nor to you whom it will never concern."

"You have a noble soul, Felix," said the count, slipping his arm, not
ungracefully, round his wife's waist and drawing her towards him to
say: "Forgive a poor sick man, dear, who wants to be loved more than he
deserves."

"There are some hearts that are all generosity," she said, resting her
head upon his shoulder. The scene made her tremble to such a degree that
her comb fell, her hair rolled down, and she turned pale. The count,
holding her up, gave a sort of groan as he felt her fainting; he caught
her in his arms as he might a child, and carried her to the sofa in the
salon, where we all surrounded her. Henriette held my hand in hers as if
to tell me that we two alone knew the secret of that scene, so simple in
itself, so heart-rending to her.

"I do wrong," she said to me in a low voice, when the count left the
room to fetch a glass of orange-flower water. "I have many wrongs to
repent of towards you; I wished to fill you with despair when I ought to
have received you mercifully. Dear, you are kindness itself, and I alone
can appreciate it. Yes, I know there is a kindness prompted by passion.
Men have various ways of being kind; some from contempt, others from
impulse, from calculation, through indolence of nature; but you, my
friend, you have been absolutely kind."

"If that be so," I replied, "remember that all that is good or great in
me comes through you. You know well that I am of your making."

"That word is enough for any woman's happiness," she said, as the count
re-entered the room. "I feel better," she said, rising; "I want air."

We went down to the terrace, fragrant with the acacias which were still
in bloom. She had taken my right arm, and pressed it against her heart,
thus expressing her sad thoughts; but they were, she said, of a sadness
dear to her. No doubt she would gladly have been alone with me; but her
imagination, inexpert in women's wiles, did not suggest to her any way
of sending her children and the count back to the house. We therefore
talked on indifferent sub