ad no longer the moral or
physical strength to endure what I was making her suffer.

"That Mlle. Gautier," I said to Prudence, "should turn me out of her own
house is quite reasonable, but that she should insult the woman whom I
love, under the pretence that this woman is my mistress, is a thing I
will never permit."

"My friend," said Prudence, "you are under the influence of a woman who
has neither heart nor sense; you are in love with her, it is true, but
that is not a reason for torturing a woman who can not defend herself."

"Let Mlle. Gautier send me her Comte de N. and the sides will be equal."

"You know very well that she will not do that. So, my dear Armand, let
her alone. If you saw her you would be ashamed of the way in which you
are treating her. She is white, she coughs--she won't last long now."

And Prudence held out her hand to me, adding:

"Come and see her; it will make her very happy."

"I have no desire to meet M. de N."

"M. de N. is never there. She can not endure him."

"If Marguerite wishes to see me, she knows where I live; let her come to
see me, but, for my part, I will never put foot in the Rue d'Antin."

"Will you receive her well?"

"Certainly."

"Well, I am sure that she will come."

"Let her come."

"Shall you be out to-day?"

"I shall be at home all the evening."

"I will tell her."

And Prudence left me.

I did not even write to tell Olympe not to expect me. I never troubled
much about her, scarcely going to see her one night a week. She consoled
herself, I believe, with an actor from some theatre or other.

I went out for dinner and came back almost immediately. I had a fire lit
in my room and I told Joseph he could go out.

I can give you no idea of the different impressions which agitated me
during the hour in which I waited; but when, toward nine o'clock, I
heard a ring, they thronged together into one such emotion, that, as I
opened the door, I was obliged to lean against the wall to keep myself
from falling.

Fortunately the anteroom was in half darkness, and the change in my
countenance was less visible. Marguerite entered.

She was dressed in black and veiled. I could scarcely recognise her face
through the veil. She went into the drawing-room and raised her veil.
She was pale as marble.

"I am here, Armand," she said; "you wished to see me and I have come."

And letting her head fall on her hands, she burst into tears.

I went up to her.

"Wha