hould turn against me
in the same way? I know not how long I sat there; it seemed to me not
a quarter of an hour, but it was a long, long time.

"Presently, I saw Gaston approach. He seated himself by me; he took my
hand; he begged my pardon a thousand times over; he swore to me it was
solely for love of me he had it done--that the dog might have turned
against me as against him, and that apprehension had made him have the
poor creature drowned; and knowing I would object, he had it done
secretly--and much more of the same kind. He was so affectionate to me
that my heart was melted. He told me he would have the dog buried
anywhere I wished and see it decently done himself. I said I would
have my poor friend buried under the statue of Petrarch--and it was
done that very afternoon. We left the garden, hand in hand, like
lovers. I never felt more in love with my husband than at that
moment--and yet--and yet--there was a concealed fear of something--I
know not what--in the very depths of my soul. To think that he should
cherish such a design and that I should not know it; that he should be
so utterly indifferent as he had been, ever since his return, to a
creature once so dear to him as his dog! This is one of the mysterious
and unexplored places in Gaston's nature since his return, that gives
me the strangest, the most terrifying sense of unfamiliarity with
him--and he, the tenderest, the most devoted husband--a man I should
admire even if I did not love him."

This story, told with Francezka's dramatic fire, impressed me more
than I would have admitted to her; and however wildly fanciful her
idea was that Regnard's soul had got into Gaston's body, yet, had not
I, myself, felt that strangeness she described toward the man I had
lived with as a brother for more than seven years? But I was not
guilty of the folly of encouraging her in the unfortunate notions of
which she was already possessed.

"It is a pity, Madame," I said, coolly, "that you seem to attach more
consequence to a dead dog than to a living husband, whom you admit you
would admire even if you did not love. There is a troublesome old dog
who shows malice. You are inordinately fond of this old dog. Your
husband, tenderly anxious for you, has the brute drowned without your
knowledge. For that you call yourself the most miserable creature on
earth."

Francezka's face turned scarlet with wrath. She half arose from her
chair, looking at me in surprise and anger