y happiness whenever it
should come within my reach. That share is yours, Jacques; and do not
fancy that I am troubled by remorse. As long as my husband thinks he is
happy, I am within the terms of the contract.'

"That was the way she spoke at that time, Magloire; and a man of more
experience would have been frightened. But I was a child; I loved her
with all my heart. I admired her genius; I was overcome by her sophisms.

"A letter from Count Claudieuse aroused us from our dreams.

"The countess had committed the only and the last imprudence of her
whole life: she had remained three weeks longer in Paris than was agreed
upon; and her impatient husband threatened to come for her.

"'I must go back to Valpinson,' she said; 'for there is nothing I would
not do to keep up the reputation I have managed to make for myself.
My life, your life, my daughter's life--I would give them all, without
hesitation, to protect my reputation."

"This happened--ah! the dates have remained fixed in my mind as if
engraven on bronze--on the 12th October.

"'I cannot remain longer than a month,' she said to me, 'without seeing
you. A month from to-day, that is to say, on 12th November, at three
o'clock precisely, you must be in the forest of Rochepommier, at the Red
Men's Cross-roads. I will be there.'

"And she left Paris. I was in such a state of depression, that I
scarcely felt the pain of parting. The thought of being loved by such a
woman filled me with extreme pride, and, no doubt, saved me from many
an excess. Ambition was rising within me whenever I thought of her. I
wanted to work, to distinguish myself, to become eminent in some way.

"'I want her to be proud of me,' I said to myself, ashamed at being
nothing at my age but the son of a rich father."

Ten times, at least, M. Magloire had risen from his chair, and moved his
lips, as if about to make some objection. But he had pledged himself, in
his own mind, not to interrupt Jacques, and he did his best to keep his
pledge.

"In the meantime," Jacques went on, "the day fixed by the countess was
drawing near. I went down to Boiscoran; and on the appointed day, at the
precise hour, I was in the forest at the Red Men's Cross-roads. I was
somewhat behind time, and I was extremely sorry for it: but I did not
know the forest very well, and the place chosen by the countess for the
rendezvous is in the very thickest part of the old wood. The weather
was unusually severe for the se