"Well, Colonel, was I not right to beg you not to come?--I am now
positive of your identity; when you came in, the Countess gave a
little start, of which the meaning was unequivocal. But you have lost
your chances. Your wife knows that you are unrecognizable."

"I will kill her!"

"Madness! you will be caught and executed like any common wretch.
Besides you might miss! That would be unpardonable. A man must not
miss his shot when he wants to kill his wife.--Let me set things
straight; you are only a big child. Go now. Take care of yourself; she
is capable of setting some trap for you and shutting you up in
Charenton. I will notify her of our proceedings to protect you against
a surprise."

The unhappy Colonel obeyed his young benefactor, and went away,
stammering apologies. He slowly went down the dark staircase, lost in
gloomy thoughts, and crushed perhaps by the blow just dealt him--the
most cruel he could feel, the thrust that could most deeply pierce his
heart--when he heard the rustle of a woman's dress on the lowest
landing, and his wife stood before him.

"Come, monsieur," said she, taking his arm with a gesture like those
familiar to him of old. Her action and the accent of her voice, which
had recovered its graciousness, were enough to allay the Colonel's
wrath, and he allowed himself to be led to the carriage.

"Well, get in!" said she, when the footman had let down the step.