world and very destructive to beauty. If she were on
the eve of another love-match, it would be a differ-
ent matter, but this was rather an alliance of two
great names, two equally lofty titles. Hubert him-
self, if he could see it from above, would be perfectly
content.

"True, my poor husband would understand it all,"
sighed Colette de Rosen, née Sauvadon, who set a
high value on the position of ambassadress, and espe-
cially her title of princesse.

"Come, my little friend, do you want some good
advice? leave Paris, run away. Samy will go in a
week. Don't wait for him, take Lavaux; he knows
St. Petersburg, and will settle you there. Besides, the
plan will spare you a painful scene with the duchesse.
These Corsicans, you know, are capable of anything."

"Yes, to go away — perhaps." Mine. de Rosen saw
in the plan the advantage of escaping her new difficul-
ties, avoiding "the consequences" of the event over there,
her momentary impulse.

"Is it the tomb?" asked Mme. Astier, noticing her
hesitation. "Is it the tomb that troubles you? Paul
can finish it very well without you. Come, don't cry,
my darling; watering does you good, but you'll get
mouldy if you keep on." And on her way home in
the gathering dusk, while waiting for the omnibus du
Roule, the good lady sighed: "Oh, Prince d' Athis
will never know what his marriage cost me!" Then
the sensation of weariness, her need of rest after so
much toil, made her suddenly remember that the
greatest fatigue of all awaited her. Her return home,
the scene with her husband. She had not yet had
time to dwell upon it; now she was approaching it,
every turn of the lumbering vehicle's wheels brought
it nearer. She shuddered at the anticipation, not
from fear; but she dreaded the outcries, the ravings,
the coarse, brutal voice of Astier-Réhu, the replies to
be made, and the trunk — the trunk that would be
dragged out again! Oh, dear, how tiresome it was!
She was so weary after her wakeful night, the exertions
of the day! Oh, why could not the explanation be de-
ferred until the morrow? And she was tempted, in-
stead of avowing frankly: "It was I!" to turn suspi-

-85-