himself could not have longed
more ardently for an interview. Now that Octave seemed to forget her, she
realized that she loved him almost to adoration. She reproached herself
for her harshness toward him more than she had ever reproached herself
for her weakness. Her antipathy for all that did not concern him
increased to such a degree that the most simple of household duties
became odious to her. It seemed to her that all the people about her were
enemies bent upon separating her from happiness, for happiness was
Octave; and this happiness, made up of words, letters, glances from him,
was lost!

The evening of the fourth day, she found this torture beyond her
strength.

"I shall become insane," she thought; "to-morrow I will speak to him."

Gerfaut was saying to himself, at nearly the same moment: "To-morrow I
will have a talk with her." Thus, by a strange sympathy, their hearts
seemed to understand each other in spite of their separation. But what
was an irresistible attraction in Clemence was only a determination
resulting from almost a mathematical calculation on her lover's part. By
the aid of this gift of second sight which intelligent men who are in
love sometimes possess, he had followed, degree by degree, the variations
of her heart, without her saying one word; and in spite of the veil of
scorn and indifference with which she still had the courage to shield
herself, he had not lost a single one of the tortures she had endured for
the last four days. Now he thought that he had discovered enough to allow
him to risk a step that, until then, he would have deemed dangerous; and
with the egotism common to all men, even the best of lovers, he trusted
in the weakness born of sorrow.

The next day a hunting party was arranged with some of the neighbors.
Early in the morning, Bergenheim and Marillac started for the rendezvous,
which was at the foot of the large oak-tree where the artist's
tete-a-tete had been so cruelly interrupted. Gerfaut refused to join
them, under the pretence of finishing an article for the 'Revue de
Paris', and remained at home with the three ladies. As soon as dinner was
ended, he went to his room in order to give a semblance of truth to his
excuse.

He had been busying himself for some time trimming a quill pen at the
window, which looked out upon the park, when he saw in the garden,
directly beneath him, Constance's forefeet and nose; soon the dog jumped
upon the sill in order to warm h