ld ask his grand-daughter with a cunning leer. "Why
doesn't he come here oftener?"

Claire apologized for Georges, but his continual neglect began to disturb
her. She wept now when she received the little notes, the despatches
which arrived daily at the dinner-hour: "Don't expect me to-night, dear
love. I shall not be able to come to Savigny until to-morrow or the day
after by the night-train."

She ate her dinner sadly, opposite an empty chair, and although she did
not know that she was betrayed, she felt that her husband was becoming
accustomed to living away from her. He was so absent-minded when a family
gathering or some other unavoidable duty detained him at the chateau, so
silent concerning what was in his mind. Claire, having now only the most
distant relations with Sidonie, knew nothing of what was taking place at
Asnieres: but when Georges left her, apparently eager to be gone, and
with smiling face, she tormented her loneliness with unavowed suspicions,
and, like all those who anticipate a great sorrow, she suddenly became
conscious of a great void in her heart, a place made ready for disasters
to come.

Her husband was hardly happier than she. That cruel Sidonie seemed to
take pleasure in tormenting him. She allowed everybody to pay court to
her. At that moment a certain Cazabon, alias Cazaboni, an Italian tenor
from Toulouse, introduced by Madame Dobson, came every day to sing
disturbing duets. Georges, jealous beyond words, hurried to Asnieres in
the afternoon, neglecting everything, and was already beginning to think
that Risler did not watch his wife closely enough. He would have liked
him to be blind only so far as he was concerned.

Ah! if he had been her husband, what a tight rein he would have kept on
her! But he had no power over her and she was not at all backward about
telling him so. Sometimes, too, with the invincible logic that often
occurs to the greatest fools, he reflected that, as he was deceiving his
friend, perhaps he deserved to be deceived. In short, his was a wretched
life. He passed his time running about to jewellers and dry-goods
dealers, inventing gifts and surprises. Ah! he knew her well. He knew
that he could pacify her with trinkets, yet not retain his hold upon her,
and that, when the day came that she was bored--

But Sidonie was not bored as yet. She was living the life that she longed
to live; she had all the happiness she could hope to attain. There was
nothing passion