the indecision of mind which, since his conversation with Derville at
the dairyman's had changed his character.

At last, having reached the kiosque, he went up to the gazebo, where
little rose-windows afforded a view over each lovely landscape of the
valley, and where he found his wife seated on a chair. The Countess
was gazing at the distance, and preserved a calm countenance, showing
that impenetrable face which women can assume when resolved to do
their worst. She wiped her eyes as if she had been weeping, and played
absently with the pink ribbons of her sash. Nevertheless, in spite of
her apparent assurance, she could not help shuddering slightly when
she saw before her her venerable benefactor, standing with folded
arms, his face pale, his brow stern.

"Madame," he said, after gazing at her fixedly for a moment and
compelling her to blush, "Madame, I do not curse you--I scorn you. I
can now thank the chance that has divided us. I do not feel even a
desire for revenge; I no longer love you. I want nothing from you.
Live in peace on the strength of my word; it is worth more than the
scrawl of all the notaries in Paris. I will never assert my claim to
the name I perhaps have made illustrious. I am henceforth but a poor
devil named Hyacinthe, who asks no more than his share of the
sunshine.--Farewell!"

The Countess threw herself at his feet; she would have detained him by
taking his hands, but he pushed her away with disgust, saying:

"Do not touch me!"

The Countess' expression when she heard her husband's retreating steps