"I think I can even now see the look in her eyes as she said,--" 'I fear nothing in the world--do you hear me? nothing in the world, except being suspected; for I cannot be compromised. I like to do as Ido; I like to have a lover. But I do not want it to be known; because, if it became known, there would be mischief. Between my reputation and my life I have no choice. If I were to be surprised here by any one, Iwould rather it should be my husband than a stranger. I have no love for the count, and I shall never forgive him for having married me;but he has saved my father's honor, and I owe it to him to keep his honor unimpaired. He is my husband, besides, and the father of my child: I bear his name, and I want it to be respected. I should die with grief and shame and rage, if I had to give my arm to a man at whom people might look and smile. Wives are absurdly stupid when they do not feel that all the scorn with which their unfortunate husbands are received in the great world falls back upon them. No. I do not love the count, Jacques, and I love you. But remember, that, between him and you, I should not hesitate a moment, and that I should sacrifice your life and your honor, with a smile on my lips, even though my heart should break, if I could, by doing so, spare him the shadow of a suspicion.'
"I was about to reply; but she said,--
" 'No more! Every minute we stay here increases the danger. What pretext will you plead for your sudden appearance at Boiscoran?'
" 'I do no know,' I replied.
" 'You must borrow some money from your uncle, a considerable sum, to pay your debts. He will be angry, perhaps; but that will explain your sudden fancy for travelling in the month of November. Good-by, good-by!'
"All amazed, I cried,--
" 'What! You will not let me see you again, at least from afar?'
" 'During this visit that would be the height of imprudence. But, stop! Stay at Boiscoran till Sunday. Your uncle never stays away from high mass: go with him to church. But be careful, control yourself. Asingle imprudence, one blunder, and I should despise you. Now we must part. You will find in Paris a letter from me.' "Jacques paused here, looking to read in M. Magloire's face what impression his recital had produced so far. But the famous lawyer remained impassive. He sighed, and continued,--"I have entered into all these details, Magloire, because I want you to know what kind of a woman the countess is, so that you may understand her conduct. You see that she did not treat me like a traitor: she had given me fair warning, and shown me the abyss into which I was going to fall. Alas! so far from being terrified, these dark sides of her character only attracted me the more. I admired her imperious air, her courage, and her prudence, even her total lack of principle, which contrasted so strangely with her fear of public opinion. I said to myself with foolish pride,--" 'She certainly is a superior woman!'
"She must have been pleased with my obedience at church; for I managed to check even a slight trembling which seized me when I saw her and bowed to her as she passed so close to me that my hand touched her dress. I obeyed her in other ways also. I asked my uncle for six thousand francs, and he gave them to me, laughing; for he was the most generous man on earth: but he said at the same time,--" 'I thought you had not come to Boiscoran merely for the purpose of exploring the forest of Rochepommier.'
"This trifling circumstance increased my admiration for the Countess Claudieuse. How well she had foreseen my uncle's astonishment, when Ihad not even dreamed of it!
" 'She has a genius for prudence,' I thought.
"Yes, indeed she had a genius for it, and a genius for calculation also, as I soon found out. When I reached Paris, I found a letter from her waiting for me; but it was nothing more than a repetition of all she had told me at our meeting. This letter was followed by several others, which she begged me to keep for her sake, and which all had a number in the upper corner.
"The first time I saw her again, I asked her,--" 'What are these numbers?'
" 'My dear Jacques,' she replied, 'a woman ought always to know how many letters she has written to her lover. Up to now, you must have had nine.'
"This occurred in May, 1867, at Rochefort, where she had gone to be present at the launching of a frigate, and where I had followed her, at her suggestion, with a view to spending a few hours in each other's company. Like a fool, I laughed at the idea of this epistolary responsibility, and then I thought no more of it. I was at that time too busy otherwise. She had recalled to me the fact that time was passing, in spite of the sadness of our separation, and that the month of September, the month of her freedom, was drawing near. Should we be compelled again, like the year before, to resort to these perilous trips to Fontainebleau? Why not get a house in a remote quarter of town?
"Every wish of hers was an order for me. My uncle's liberality knew no end. I bought a house."At last in the midst of all of Jacques's perplexities, there appeared a circumstance which might furnish tangible evidence.
M. Magloire started, and asked eagerly,--"Ah, you bought a house?"
"Yes, a nice house with a large garden, in Vine Street, Passy.""And you own it still?"
"Yes."
"Of course you have the title-papers?"
Jacques looked in despair.
"Here, again, fate is against me. There is quite a tale connected with that house."The features of the Sauveterre lawyer grew dark again, much quicker than they had brightened up just now.
"Ah!" he said,--"a tale, ah!"
"I was scarcely of age," resumed Jacques, "when I wanted to purchase this house. I dreaded difficulties. I was afraid my father might hear of it; in fine, I wanted to be as prudent as the countess was. Iasked, therefore, one of my English friends, Sir Francis Burnett, to purchase it in his name. He agreed; and he handed me, with the necessary bills of sale, also a paper in which he acknowledged my right as proprietor.""But then"--
