dreaming for a few moments upon its edge, and then returned.  A second tune she went by the ruins, without raising her eyes, and as if deeply absorbed.  Lucan remained convinced that she had not suspected his presence, when suddenly she turned her head slightly around, without interrupting her march, and she cast behind her that single word, “Farewell,” in a tone so gentle, so musical, so sorrowful, that it was somewhat like the sound of a tear falling upon a sonorous crystal.

That minute was a supreme one.  It was one of those moments during which a man’s life is decided for eternal good or for eternal evil.  Monsieur de Lucan felt it so.  Had he yielded to the attraction of passion, of intoxication, of pity, that was urging him with almost irresistible force on the footsteps of that beautiful and unhappy woman—­that was on the point of casting him at her feet, upon her heart—­he felt that he became at once and forever a lost and desperate soul.  Such a crime, were it even to remain wholly ignored, separated him forever from all he had ever respected, all he had ever held sacred and inviolate; there was nothing left for him either upon earth or in heaven; there was no longer any faith, probity, honor, friend, or God!  The whole moral world vanished for him in that single instant.

He accepted her farewell, and made no reply.  The white form moved away and soon disappeared in the darkness.

The evening was spent in the home circle as usual.  Julia, pale, moody, and haughty, worked silently at her tapestry.  Lucan observed that on taking leave of her mother she was kissing her with unusual effusion.

He soon retired also.  Assailed by the most formidable apprehensions, he did not undress.  Toward morning only, he threw himself all dressed upon the bed.  It was about five o’clock, and scarcely daylight as yet, when he fancied he heard muffled steps on the carpet, in the hall and on the stairs.  He rose again at once.  The windows of his room opened upon the court.  He saw Julia cross it, dressed in riding costume.  She went into the stable and came out again after a few moments.  A groom brought her her horse, and assisted her in mounting.  The man, accustomed to Julia’s somewhat eccentric manners, saw apparently nothing alarming in that fancy for an early ride.  Monsieur de Lucan, after a few minutes of excited thought, took his resolution.  He directed his steps toward the room of the Count de Moras.  To his extreme surprise, he found him up and dressed.  The count, seeing Lucan coming in, seemed struck with astonishment.  He fastened upon him a penetrating and visibly agitated look.

“What is the matter?” he said, at last, in a low and tremulous voice.

“Nothing serious, I hope,” replied Lucan.  “Nevertheless, I am uneasy.  Julia has just gone out on horseback.  You have, doubtless, seen and heard her as I have myself, since you are up.”

“Yes,” said Moras, who had continued to gaze upon Lucan with an expression of indescribable stupor; “yes,” he repeated, recovering himself, not without difficulty, “and I am glad, really very glad to see you, my dear friend.”