blamed by both sides shows one of two things very clearly--that misery
necessarily follows in the train of broken laws, or else that there
are deplorable flaws in the institutions upon which society in Europe
is based.



Two years went by. M. and Mme. d'Aiglemont went their separate ways,
leading their life in the world, meeting each other more frequently
abroad than at home, a refinement upon divorce, in which many a
marriage in the great world is apt to end.

One evening, strange to say, found husband and wife in their own
drawing-room. Mme. d'Aiglemont had been dining at home with a friend,
and the General, who almost invariably dined in town, had not gone out
for once.

"There is a pleasant time in store for you, _Madame la Marquise_,"
said M. d'Aiglemont, setting his coffee cup down upon the table. He
looked at the guest, Mme. de Wimphen, and half-pettishly, half-
mischievously added, "I am starting off for several days' sport with
the Master of the Hounds. For a whole week, at any rate, you will be a
widow in good earnest; just what you wish for, I suppose.--Guillaume,"
he said to the servant who entered, "tell them to put the horses in."

Mme. de Wimphen was the friend to whom Julie had begun the letter upon
her marriage. The glances exchanged by the two women said plainly that
in her Julie had found an intimate friend, an indulgent and invaluable
confidante. Mme. de Wimphen's marriage had been a very happy one.
Perhaps it was her own happiness which secured her devotion to Julie's