the two women to this fact. He was less disquieted at this, because he
was resolved to keep them entirely safe. As a result of his reflections
during the night, he had determined to break off forever his intrigue
with Madame de Campvallon. For this rupture, which he had made it a
point of honor not to provoke, Madame de Campvallon had herself furnished
him a sufficient pretext.

The criminal thought she had suggested was, he knew, only a feint to test
him, but it was enough to justify his abandonment of her. As to the
violent and menacing words the Marquise had used, he held them of little
value, though at times the remembrance of them troubled him.
Nevertheless, for many years he had not felt his heart so light. This
wicked tie once broken, it seemed as if he had resumed, with his liberty,
his youth and virtue. He walked and played a part of the day with his
little son. After dinner, just as night fell, clear and pure, he
proposed to Madame de Camors a tete-a-tete excursion in the woods. He
spoke to her of a view which had struck him shortly before on such a
night, and which would please, he said laughingly, her romantic taste.

He would not permit himself to be surprised at the disinclination she
manifested, at the disquietude which her face indicated, or at the rapid
glance she exchanged with her mother.

The same thought, and that a most fearful one; entered the minds of both
these unfortunate women at the same moment.

They were still under the impression of the shock which had so weakened
their nerves, and the brusque proposition of M. de Camors, so contrary to
his usual habits-the hour, the night, and the solitary walk--had suddenly
awakened in their brains the sinister images which Madame de la Roche-