permitted to go on, and an explosion was clearly to be expected; but
what Diana dreaded most was the accidental development of some unseen
chance.

After she had been married some two weeks, when Octave proposed in the
afternoon that they should go for a walk, she agreed. Her preparations
were soon completed, and they started off, blithe and lively as children
on a holiday ramble. As they loitered in a wooded path, they heard a dog
barking in the cover. It was Bruno, who rushed out, and, standing on his
hind legs, endeavored to lick Diana's face.

"Help, help, Octave!" she exclaimed, and her husband, springing to her
side, drove away the animal.

"Were you very much alarmed, dearest?" asked he.

"Yes," answered she faintly; "I was almost frightened to death."

"I do not think that he would do you any harm," remarked Octave.

"No matter; make him go away;" and as she spoke she struck at him with
her parasol. But the dog never for a moment supposed that Diana was in
earnest, and, supposing that she intended to play with him, as she had
often done before, began to gambol round her, barking joyously the whole
time.

"But this dog evidently knows you, Diana," observed the Viscount.

"Know me? Impossible!" and as she spoke Bruno ran up and licked her
hand. "If he does, his memory is better than mine; at any rate, I am
half afraid of him. Come, Octave, let us go."

They turned away, and Octave would have forgotten all about the
occurrence had not Bruno, delighted at having found an old acquaintance,
persisted in following them.

"This is strange," exclaimed the Viscount, "very strange indeed.
Look here, my man," said he, addressing a peasant, who was engaged in
clipping a hedge by the roadside, "do you know whose dog this is?"

"Yes, my lord, it belongs to the young Duke of Champdoce."

"Of course," answered Diana, "I have often seen the dog at the Widow
Rouleau's, and have occasionally given it a piece of bread. He was
always with Francoise, who ran off with that man Daumon. Oh, yes, I know
him now; here, Bruno, here!"

The dog rushed to her, and, stooping down, she caressed him, thus hoping
to conceal her tell-tale face.

Octave drew his wife's arm within his without another word. A strange
feeling of doubt had arisen in his mind. Diana, too, was much disturbed,
and abused herself mentally for having been so weak and cowardly. Why
had she not at once confessed that she knew the dog? Had she said at
once, "