nearly so; as much so as two thirds of the women
in the world.

Everything was for the best. He gave anew the reins to his car and
launched himself afresh on his brilliant career-proud of his royal
mistress, and foreseeing in the distance, to crown his life, the triumphs
of ambition and power. Pleading various doubtful engagements, he went to
Reuilly only once during the autumn; but he wrote frequently, and Madame
de Tecle sent him in return brief accounts of his wife's health.

One morning toward the close of November, he received a despatch which
made him understand, in telegraphic style, that his presence was
immediately required at Reuilly, if he wished to be present at the birth
of his son.

Whenever social duties or courtesy were required of M. de Camors, he
never hesitated. Seeing he had not a moment to spare if he wished to
catch the train which left that morning, he jumped into a cab and drove
to the station. His servant would join him the next morning.

The station at Reuilly was several miles distant from the house. In the
confusion no arrangement had been made to receive him on his arrival, and
he was obliged to content himself with making the intermediate journey in
a heavy country-wagon. The bad condition of the roads was a new obstacle,
and it was three o'clock in the morning when the Count, impatient and
travel-worn, jumped out of the little cart before the railings of his
avenue. He strode toward the house under the dark and silent dome of the
tufted elms. He was in the middle of the avenue when a sharp cry rent the
air. His heart bounded in his breast: he suddenly stopped and listened
attentively. The cry echoed through the stillness of the night. One would
have deemed it the despairing shriek of a human being under the knife of
a murderer.

These dolorous sounds gradually ceasing, he continued his walk with
greater haste, and only heard the hollow and muffled sound of his own
beating heart. At the moment he saw the lights of the chateau, another
agonized cry, more shrill and alarming than the first, arose.

This time Camors stopped. Notwithstanding that the natural explanation of
these agonized cries presented itself to his mind, he was troubled.

It is not unusual that men like him, accustomed to a purely artificial
life, feel a strange surprise when one of the simplest laws of nature
presents itself all at once before them with a violence as imperious and
irresistible as a divine law. Camors