who kindled the last spark of humanity with which that dark conscience
was lighted up, and that by the most innocent of conversations. It was
the very evening of the afternoon on which she had exchanged that sad
adieu with Fanny Hafner. She was more unnerved than usual, and she was
conversing with Dorsenne in that corner of the long hall. They did not
heed the fact that Lydia drew near them, by a simple change of seat which
permitted her, while herself conversing with some guest, to lend an ear
to the words uttered by the Contessina.

It was Florent who was the subject of their conversation, and she said to
Dorsenne, who was praising him:

"What would you have? It is true I almost feel repulsion toward him.
He is to me like a being of another species. His friendship for his
brother-in-law? Yes. It is very beautiful, very touching; but it does
not touch me. It is a devotion which is not human. It is too
instinctive and too blind. Indeed, I know that I am wrong. There is
that prejudice of race which I can never entirely overcome."

Dorsenne touched her fingers at that moment, under the pretext of taking
from her her fan, in reality to warn her, and he said, in a very low
voice that time:

"Let us go a little farther on. Lydia Maitland is too near."

He fancied he surprised a start on the part of Florent's sister, at whom
he accidentally glanced, while his too-sensible interlocutor no longer
watched her! But as the pretty, clear laugh of Lydia rang out at the
same moment, imprudent Alba replied: