parate
from Diana; that whatever she might do in the future, or had already
done in the past, he could not choose but forgive her.

Acquitted of all blame, thanks to Clinchain's and Ludovic's
evidence--for they had mutually agreed that the tragical occurrence
should be represented to have been the result of an accident--the
conscience of M. de Mussidan left him but little peace. The girl whom
Montlouis had loved had been driven from her home in disgrace, owing to
having given birth to a son. Octave sought her out, and, without giving
any reason for his generosity, told her that her son, whom she had named
Paul, after his father, Montlouis, should never come to want.

Shortly after this sad occurrence, M. de Mussidan and his wife quitted
Poitiers, for Diana had more than once determined that she would make
Paris her residence for the future. She had taken into her service a
woman who had been in the service of Marie de Puymandour, and through
her had discovered that, previous to her marriage with Norbert, Marie
had loved George de Croisenois; and she intended to use this knowledge
at some future date as a weapon with which to deal the Duke de Champdoce
a deadly blow.

CHAPTER XIII.

A SCHEME OF VENGEANCE.

The marriage between Norbert and Mademoiselle de Puymandour was entirely
deficient in that brief, ephemeral light that shines over the honeymoon.
The icy wall that stood between them became each day stronger and
taller. There was no one to smooth away inequalities, no one to exercise
a kindly influence over two characters, both haughty and determined.
After his father's death, when Norbert announced his intention of
residing in Paris, M. de Puymandour highly approved of this resolution,
for he fancied that if he were to remain alone in the country, he could
to a certain extent take the place and position of the late Duke, and,
with the permission of his son-in-law, at once take up his residence at
Champdoce.

Almost as soon as the young Duchess arrived in Paris she realized the
fact that she was the most unfortunate woman in the world. As Champdoce
was almost like her own home, her eyes lighted on familiar scenes;
and if she went out, she was sure of being greeted by kindly words and
friendly features; but in Paris she only found solitude, for everything
there was strange and hostile. The late Duke, pinching and parsimonious
as he had been towards himself and his son, launched out into the
wildest extravaga