our bidding! I should be stupid enough, blind enough,
to allow myself to be touched by your hypocritical tears! I should
secure your happiness by the sacrifice of my reputation! No, madam,
cherish no such hope!"

Her voice expired in her throat in a kind of toneless rattle. She walked
up and down a few times in the room. Then she placed herself straight
before Dionysia, and, looking fixedly into her eyes, she asked,--

"Who suggested to you this plan of coming here, this supreme insult
which you tried to inflict upon me?"

Dionysia was seized with unspeakable horror, and hardly found heart to
reply.

"No one," she murmured.

"M. Folgat?"

"Knows nothing of it."

"And Jacques?"

"I have not seen him. The thought occurred to me quite suddenly, like an
inspiration on high. When Dr. Seignebos told me that you had refused
to admit the priest from Brechy, I said to myself, 'This is the last
misfortune, and the greatest of them all! If Count Claudieuse dies
without retracting, Jacques can never be fully restored, whatever may
happen hereafter, not even if his innocence should be established.' Then
I made up my mind to come to you. Ah! it was a hard task. But I was
in hopes I might touch your heart, or that you might be moved by the
greatness of my sacrifice."

The countess was really moved. There is no heart absolutely bad, as
there is none altogether good. As she listened to Dionysia's passionate
entreaty, her resolution began to grow weaker.

"Would it be such a great sacrifice?" she asked.

Tears sprang to the eyes of the poor young girl.

"Alas!" she said, "I offer you my life. I know very well you will not be
long jealous of me."

She was interrupted by groans, which seemed to come from the room in
which the count was lying.

The countess half-opened the door; and immediately a feeble, and yet
imperious voice was heard calling out,--

"Genevieve, I say, Genevieve!"

"I am coming, my dear, in a moment," replied the countess.

"What security can you give me," she said, in a hard and stern voice,
after having closed the door again,--"what security do you give me, that
if Jacques's innocence were established, and he reinstated, you would
not forget your promises?"

"Ah, madam! How or upon what do you want me to swear that I am ready
to disappear. Choose your own securities, and I will do whatever you
require."

Then, sinking down on her knees, before the countess, she went on,--

"Here I am at your