as the turn of others. God was just. Resentment, and
kindness, and a strange mixed feeling of forgiveness and revenge
contended together in the really generous heart of Madame d'Argy, but
that heart was still sore within her. Pity, however, carried the day, and
had it not been for the irritating coldness of "that little hard-hearted
thing," as she called Jacqueline, she would have entirely forgiven her.
She never suspected that the exaggerated reserve of manner that offended
her was owing to Jacqueline's dread (commendable in itself) of appearing
to wish in her days of misfortune for the return of one she had rejected
in the time of prosperity.

In spite of the received opinion that society abandons those who are
overtaken by misfortune, all the friends of the De Nailles flocked to
offer their condolences to the widow and the orphan with warm
demonstrations of interest. Curiosity, a liking to witness, or to
experience, emotion, the pleasure of being able to tell what has been
seen and heard, to find out new facts and repeat them again to others,
joined to a sort of vague, commonplace, almost intrusive pity, are
sentiments, which sometimes in hours of great disaster, produce what
appears to wear the look of sympathy. A fortnight after M. de Nailles's
death, between the acts of Scylla and Charybdis, the principal parts in
which were taken by young d'Etaples and Isabelle Ray, the company, as it
ate ices, was glibly discussing the real drama which had produced in
their own elegant circle much of the effect a blow has upon an
ant-hill--fear, agitation, and a tumultuous rush to the scene of the
disaster.

Great indignation was expressed against the man who had risked the
fortune of his family in speculation. Oh! the thing had been going on for
a long while. His fortune had been gradually melting away; Grandchaux was
loaded down with mortgages and would bring almost nothing at a forced
sale.

Everybody forgot that had M. de Nailles's speculations been successful
they would have been called matters of business, conducted with great
ability on a large scale. When a performer falls from the tightrope, who
remembers all the times he has not failed? It is simply said that he fell
from his own carelessness.

"The poor Baroness is touchingly resigned," said Madame de Villegry, with
a deep sigh; "and heaven knows how many other cares she has besides the
loss of money! I don't mean only the death of her husband--and you know
how m