ing a man whom you think worthy
of you, I will make Florine herself return you those letters."

"Oh! Surely he would give them back to me himself."

"Suppose that he refused to do so?"

The countess dropped her head.

"The world disgusts me," she said. "I don't want to enter it again. I
want to live alone with you, if you forgive me."

"But you might get bored again. Besides, what would the world say if you
left it so abruptly? In the spring we will travel; we will go to Italy,
and all over Europe; you shall see life. But to-morrow night we must go
to the Opera-ball; there is no other way to get those letters without
compromising you; besides, by giving them up, Florine will prove to you
her power."

"And must I see that?" said the countess, frightened.

"To-morrow night."

The next evening, about midnight, Nathan was walking about the foyer
of the Opera with a mask on his arm, to whom he was attending in a
sufficiently conjugal manner. Presently two masked women came up to him.

"You poor fool! Marie is here and is watching you," said one of them,
who was Vandenesse, disguised as a woman.

"If you choose to listen to me I will tell you secrets that Nathan
is hiding from you," said the other woman, who was the countess, to
Florine.

Nathan had abruptly dropped Florine's arm to follow the count, who
adroitly slipped into the crowd and was out of sight in a moment.
Florine followed the countess, who sat down on a seat close at hand,
to which the count, doubling on Nathan, returned almost immediately to
guard his wife.

"Explain yourself, my dear," said Florine, "and don't think I shall
stand this long. No one can tear Raoul from me, I'll tell you that; I
hold him by habit, and that's even stronger than love."

"In the first place, are you Florine?" said the count, speaking in his
natural voice.

"A pretty question! if you don't know that, my joking friend, why should
I believe you?"

"Go and ask Nathan, who has left you to look for his other mistress,
where he passed the night, three days ago. He tried to kill himself
without a word to you, my dear,--and all for want of money. That shows
how much you know about the affairs of a man whom you say you love, and
who leaves you without a penny, and kills himself,--or, rather, doesn't
kill himself, for his misses it. Suicides that don't kill are about as
absurd as a duel without a scratch."

"That's a lie," said Florine. "He dined with me that very day. The