red herself
that it was unnecessary to seek any other stage than the studio for the
scene she meditated. She knew too well the fury of passion by which
Madame Steno was possessed to doubt that, as soon as she was alone with
Lincoln, she did not refuse him those kisses of which their
correspondence spoke. The snare to be laid was very simple. It required
that Alba and Lydia should be in some post of observation while the
lovers believed themselves alone, were it only for a moment. The position
of the places furnished the formidable woman with the means of obtaining
the place of espionage in all security. Situated on the second floor, the
studio occupied most of the depth of the house. The wall, which separated
it from the side of the apartments, ended in a partition formed of
colored glass, through which it was impossible to see. That glass lighted
a dark corridor adjoining the linen-room. Lydia employed several hours of
several nights in cutting with a diamond a hole, the size of a fifty
centime-piece, in one of those unpolished squares.

Her preparations had been completed several days when, notwithstanding
her absence of scruple in the satiating of her hatred, she still
hesitated to employ that mode of vengeance, so much atrocious cruelty was
there in causing a daughter to spy upon her mother. It was Alba herself
who kindled the last spark of humanity with which that dark conscience
was lighted up, and that by the most innocent of conversations. It was
the very evening of the afternoon on which she had exchanged that sad
adieu with Fanny Hafner. She was more unnerved than usual, and she was
conversing with Dorsenne in that corner of the long hall. They did not
heed the fact that Lydia drew near them, by a simple change of seat which
permitted her, while herself conversing with some guest, to lend an ear
to the words uttered by the Contessina.

It was Florent who was the subject of their conversation, and she said to
Dorsenne, who was praising him:

"What would you have? It is true I almost feel repulsion toward him. He
is to me like a being of another species. His friendship for his
brother-in-law? Yes. It is very beautiful, very touching; but it does not
touch me. It is a devotion which is not human. It is too instinctive and
too blind. Indeed, I know that I am wrong. There is that prejudice of
race which I can never entirely overcome."

Dorsenne touched her fingers at that moment, under the pretext of taking
fro