“Forgive me, Valerie!  I was crazed with the contemplation of you,—­you whom I considered as my own wife, living here as the Duchess of Hereward.  Only since I have learned that the duke is gone—­and gone forever from you, have I come to my senses.  Do you understand me, and do you forgive me?”

“Yes, both; but now, do not think me rude or unkind; but you must go.  It is not well that you should stay too long.”

“Good-morning, Valerie,” he said immediately preparing to obey her.

She held out her hand.  He took it, pressed it lightly, dropped it, turned and left the room.

After this day the Count de Volaski came daily to the Hotel de la Motte on some errand connected with the duchess’ financial business.  These interviews were as coldly formal as the most severe etiquette would have required.

Valerie received frequent letters from the Duke of Hereward, in which he spoke of the protracted business that still kept him an unwilling absentee from her side; promised as speedy a return as possible; expressed great anxiety concerning her health, and besought her to write often.

She complied with his request:  she wrote daily as she had promised to do, but she could not write deceitfully; she told him of her health, which she described as no better and no worse than it had been when he left Paris; she told him any little political news or rumor that happened to be stirring, and any social gossip that she thought might interest or amuse him; but she deluded him by no expressions of affection or devotion.

The duke’s absence, that was expected to last but two weeks, was prolonged to six.

Still Valerie delayed leaving the Hotel de la Motte.  She shrank from taking the final step, until it should seem absolutely necessary.

At length, after an absence of nearly seven weeks, the Duke of Hereward wrote to his young wife that he was about to return home, and would follow his letter in twenty-four hours.

This letter threw her into a state of excessive nervous excitement, and when her daily visitor entered her room a few hours after its reception, he found her in this condition.

“Why, what is the matter, Valerie?  What on earth has happened?” he inquired, in much anxiety.

“The hour has come!  I must go!” she answered, trembling.

“Well, so much the better.  You are ready to go.  You have been ready for weeks past!  Do not falter now that the time is at hand.”

“I do not falter in resolution, only in strength.”

“The sooner it is over the better.  I will take you away this afternoon, if you wish.”

“Yes, yes, take me away as soon as possible!”

“Have you thought of where you would like to go first?”

“Yes!  I have thought and decided!  I want you to take me to Italy—­to St. Vito, where we were married, and to the vine-dresser’s cottage, in the Apennines, where we passed the first days of our marriage, and the happiest days of our lives.”