onor, and the world.

"Why," said he, in a mad burst of passion, "why should we not set at
defiance all the cold social rules framed by an artificial state of
society; why should not the woman leave her husband and the man his
wife?" Norbert had consulted his watch times without number before the
appointed hour came. "Ah," sighed he, "suppose that she should not come
after all."

As he said these words a cab stopped, and the Countess de Mussidan
alighted from it. She came rapidly along towards him, crossing an
open space without heeding the irregularities of the ground, as that
diminished the distance which separated her from Norbert. He advanced
to meet her, and taking his arm, they plunged into the recesses of the
Bois. There had been heavy rain on the day previous, and the pathway was
wet and muddy, but Madame de Mussidan did not seem to notice this.

"Let us go on," said she, "until we are certain of not being seen from
the road. I have taken every precaution. My carriage and servants are
waiting for me in front of St. Philippe du Roule; but for all that I may
have been watched."

"You were not so timid in bygone days."

"Then I was my own mistress; and if I lost my reputation, the loss
affected me only; but on my wedding day I had a sacred trust confided
to me--the honor of the man who has given me his name, and that I must
guard with jealous care."

"Then you love me no longer."

She stopped suddenly, and overwhelming Norbert with one of those glacial
glances which she knew so well how to assume, answered in measured
accents,--

"Your memory fails you; all that has remained to me of the past is the
rejection of a proposal conveyed in a certain letter that I wrote."

Norbert interrupted her by a piteous gesture of entreaty.

"Mercy!" said he. "You would pardon me if you knew all the horrors of
the punishment that I am enduring. I was mad, blind, besotted, nor did I
love you as I do at this moment."

A smile played round Diana's beautiful mouth, for Norbert had told her
nothing that she did not know before, but she wished to hear it from his
own lips.

"Alas!" murmured she; "I can only frame my reply with the fatal words,
'_Too late_!'"

"Diana!"

He endeavored to seize her hand, but she drew it away with a rapid
movement.

"Do not use that name," said she; "you have no right to do so. Is it not
sufficient to have blighted the young girl's life? and yet you seek to
compromise the honor of the wi