reflections.

The Duchess led her to the door into the card-room; then, after
looking round the room as if in search of some one--"And there is
Soulanges!" she said in deep tones.

The Countess shuddered as she saw, in the least brilliantly lighted
corner, the pale, set face of Soulanges stretched in an easy-chair.
The indifference of his attitude and the rigidity of his brow betrayed
his suffering. The players passed him to and fro, without paying any
more attention to him than if he had been dead. The picture of the
wife in tears, and the dejected, morose husband, separated in the
midst of this festivity like the two halves of a tree blasted by
lightning, had perhaps a prophetic significance for the Countess. She
dreaded lest she here saw an image of the revenges the future might
have in store for her. Her heart was not yet so dried up that the
feeling and generosity were entirely excluded, and she pressed the
Duchess' hand, while thanking her by one of those smiles which have a
certain childlike grace.

"My dear child," the old lady said in her ear, "remember henceforth
that we are just as capable of repelling a man's attentions as of
attracting them."

"She is yours if you are not a simpleton." These words were whispered
into Colonel Montcornet's ear by Madame de Lansac, while the handsome
Countess was still absorbed in compassion at the sight of Soulanges,
for she still loved him truly enough to wish to restore him to
happiness, and was promising herself in her own mind that she would
exert the irresistible power her charms still had over him to make him