ignity
of our station! Did I not warn you, malheureux, to leave party faction
alone? You laughed at me."

"Madame, your memory does me an injustice," he answered in a strangled
voice. "I never laughed at you in all my life."

"You did as much, at least. Did you not bid me busy myself with women's
affairs? Did you not bid me leave you to follow your own judgment? You
have followed it--to a pretty purpose, as God lives! These gentlemen of
the King's will cause you to follow it a little farther," she pursued,
with heartless, loathsome sarcasm. "You will follow it as far as the
scaffold at Toulouse. That, you will tell me, is your own affair. But
what provision have you made for your wife and daughter? Did you marry
me and get her to leave us to perish of starvation? Or are we to turn
kitchen wenches or sempstresses for our livelihood?"

With a groan, the Vicomte sank down upon the bed, and covered his face
with his hands.

"God pity me!" he cried, in a voice of agony--an agony such as the fear
of death could never have infused into his brave soul; an agony born of
the heartlessness of this woman who for twenty years had shared his
bed and board, and who now in the hour of his adversity failed him so
cruelly--so tragically.

"Aye," she mocked in her bitterness, "call upon God to pity you, for I
shall not."

She paced the room now, like a caged lioness, her face livid with the
fury that possessed her. She no longer asked questions; she no
longer addressed him; oath followed oath from her thin lips, and the
hideousness of this woman's blasphemy made me shudder. At last there
were heavy steps upon the stairs, and, moved by a sudden impulse
"Madame," I cried, "let me prevail upon you to restrain yourself."

She swung round to face me, her dose-set eyes ablaze with anger.

"Sangdieu! By what right do you--" she began but this was no time to
let a woman's tongue go babbling on; no time for ceremony; no season for
making a leg and addressing her with a simper. I caught her viciously by
the wrist, and with my face close up to hers "Folle!" I cried, and I'll
swear no man had ever used the word to her before. She gasped and choked
in her surprise and rage. Then lowering my voice lest it should reach
the approaching soldiers: "Would you ruin the Vicomte and yourself?" I
muttered. Her eyes asked me a question, and I answered it. "How do you
know that the soldiers have come for your husband? It may be that they
are seeking me-