ver
the balustrade, against which her arm rested, in a certain manner--so, a
little more forward, a little more--and that suffering would be
terminated. Yes, it would be so very simple. She saw herself lying upon
the pavement, her limbs broken, her head crushed, dead--dead--freed! She
leaned forward and was about to leap, when her eyes fell upon a person
who was walking below, the sight of whom suddenly aroused her from the
folly, the strange charm of which had just laid hold so powerfully upon
her. She drew back. She rubbed her eyes with her hands, and she, who was
accustomed to mystical enthusiasm, said aloud:

"My God! You send him to me! I am saved." And she summoned the footman to
tell him that if M. Dorsenne asked for her, he should be shown into
Madame Steno's small salon. "I am not at home to any one else," she
added.

It was indeed Julien, whom she had seen approach the house at the very
instant when she was only separated from the abyss by that last tremor of
animal repugnance, which is found even in suicide of the most ardent
kind. Do not madmen themselves choose to die in one manner rather than in
another? She paused several moments in order to collect herself.

"Yes," said she at length, to herself, "it is the only solution. I will
find out if he loves me truly. And if he does not?"

She again looked toward the window, in order to assure herself that, in
case that conversation did not end as she desired, the tragical and
simple means remained at her service by which to free herself from that
infamous life which she surely could not bear.

Julien began the conversation in his tone of sentimental raillery, so
speedily to be transformed into one of drama! He knew very well, on
arriving at Villa Steno, that he was to have his last tete-a-tete with
his pretty and interesting little friend. For he had at length decided to
go away, and, to be more sure of not failing, he had engaged his
sleeping-berth for that night. He had jested so much with love that he
entered upon that conversation with a jest; when, having tried to take
Alba's hand to press a kiss upon it, he saw that it was bandaged.

"What has happened to you, little Countess? Have my laurels or those of
Florent Chapron prevented you from sleeping, that you are here with the
classical wrist of a duellist?.... Seriously, how have you hurt
yourself?"

"I leaned against a window, which broke and the pieces of glass cut my
fingers somewhat," replied th