the scheming parents heard
of the Viscount being in the neighborhood they asked him to call on
them. Of course he did so, and saw Mademoiselle Diana, and returned home
in a perfect frenzy of love."

Norbert seemed so incensed at this that Montlouis broke off his recital,
feeling confident that the Marquis still loved Diana, and was consumed
with the flame of jealousy.

"But, of course," he added carelessly, "nothing is yet settled."

Norbert, however, was too agitated to listen to the idle gossip of
Montlouis any longer, so he pressed his hand and left him rather
abruptly, walking away at the top of his speed, leaving his friend
silent with astonishment. It seemed to Norbert as if he was imprisoned
in one of those iron dungeons he had read of, which slowly contracted
day by day, and at last crushed their victims to atoms. He saw Diana
married to the Viscount de Mussidan, and compelled to meet daily the man
who knew all about her illicit meetings with her former lover, and who
had more than once, when Norbert was unable to leave Champdoce, been
intrusted with a letter or a message for her. And how would Montlouis
behave under the circumstances? Would he possess the necessary tact and
coolness to carry him through so difficult a position? What would be the
end of this cruel concatenation of circumstances? Would Diana be able to
endure the compromising witness of her youthful error? She would eagerly
seek out some pretext for his dismissal; he could easily detect this,
and in his anger at the loss of a position which he had long desired,
would turn on her and repeat the whole story. Should Montlouis let loose
his tongue, the Viscount, indignant at the imposition that had been
practised upon him, would separate from his wife. What would be Diana's
conduct when she found herself left thus alone, and despised by the
society of which she had hoped to be a queen? Would she not, in her
turn, seek to revenge herself on Norbert? He had just asked himself
whether at this juncture death would not be a blessing to him, when he
caught sight of Francoise, the daughter of the Widow Rouleau, close by
him. For two hours she had been awaiting his coming, concealed behind a
hedge.

"I have something to give you, my lord Marquis," said she.

He took the letter that she held out to him, and, opening it, he read,--

"You said that I did not love you--perhaps this was but a test to prove
my love. I am ready to fly with you to-night. I sha