who had been ordered not to admit any visitors.  It was too late to retire, unobserved; and the usual greetings of civility were scarcely exchanged, when De Courcy abruptly entered the room.  He started, on seeing his wife, who had so recently refused his request, on the plea of illness, apparently well, and taking advantage of his absence, to admit his supposed rival to an interview.  Pale with emotion, he stood a moment, as if rooted to the spot; his eye, which flashed with scorn and anger, fixed alternately on each; then deliberately turned, and left the house.  The Count had met his gaze unmoved, and with an expression of calm contempt; your mother, terrified by the storm of passion which his countenance betrayed, fled precipitately to her own apartment.  Ill as she was, however, and trembling with apprehension, she exerted herself to appear at dinner, hoping that the true explanation would appease her husband’s irritation.  But he met her with a gloomy reserve, which destroyed all hope of confidence; he did not allude to what had passed; every trace of passion was gone, and she felt re-assured by a deceitful calm, that only concealed the inward struggle.

“De Courcy left the house by day-light on the following morning; no one knew whither he was gone, but we had heard him traverse his apartment through the night, and were confident he had taken no repose.  A few hours of anxious suspense passed away, and your mother had just risen from her sleepless pillow, when he suddenly entered her dressing-room.  I was alone with her, and never shall I forget the impression his appearance made on me.  His dress was disordered, his countenance pale and haggard, and every feature marked with the deepest anguish.  Your mother rose with a faint exclamation, but instantly sunk again upon her seat.  He approached her, and took her hands, even with gentleness, between his own, though every limb trembled with agitation.

“Lucie,” he said, with unnatural calmness, and fixing his troubled eye on her face; “I come to bid you a long,—­long farewell!”

“What mean you, de Courcy?” she asked, with extreme alarm; “speak, I conjure you, and relieve this torturing suspense!”

“My honor has been avenged!” he replied, with a hoarse and rapid utterance; “and from this moment we part—­forever!”

“Part! de Courcy, my husband!” she exclaimed, in a voice of agony; “tell me, what”—­

“The concluding words died on her quivering lips; the sudden conflict of strong emotions could not be endured, and she sunk insensible on my bosom.  Frantic with alarm, I folded my arms around her, and, unwilling to summon any witnesses, attempted to recall her senses, by administering such restoratives as were fortunately within my reach.  De Courcy looked at her an instant, like one bewildered; then fiercely exclaimed,

“She loves him! see you not how she loves him?”

“Wretched man!” I said, indignantly, “you have murdered her; go, and leave us to our misery.”