Jacques was becoming gradually excited. He went on,--

"This is, at least, what the countess told me in her first hours of
enthusiasm. But she told it to me calmly, coldly, like a thing that was
perfectly natural. 'Certainly,' she said, 'Count Claudieuse has never
had to regret the bargain he made. If he has been generous, I have been
faithful. My father owes his life to him; but I have given him years of
happiness to which he was not entitled. If he has received no love, he
has had all the appearance of it, and an appearance far more pleasant
than the reality.'

"When I could not conceal my astonishment, she added, laughing
heartily,--

"'Only I brought to the bargain a mental reservation. I reserved to
myself the right to claim my share of earthly happiness whenever it
should come within my reach. That share is yours, Jacques; and do not
fancy that I am troubled by remorse. As long as my husband thinks he is
happy, I am within the terms of the contract.'

"That was the way she spoke at that time, Magloire; and a man of more
experience would have been frightened. But I was a child; I loved her
with all my heart. I admired her genius; I was overcome by her sophisms.

"A letter from Count Claudieuse aroused us from our dreams.

"The countess had committed the only and the last imprudence of her
whole life: she had remained three weeks longer in Paris than was agreed
upon; and her impatient husband threatened to come for her.