beautiful.  She has had great trouble in obtaining permission from Marie, queen of angels, to withdraw me from earth.  But last night she brought me formal leave, sealed with green wax; and she also gave me a tiny vial of hydrocyanic acid.  A single drop of that acid puts us to sleep, and on waking up we find ourselves on the other side.

Louise desired me to give you a message from her.  I am to tell you that Monsieur de l’Estorade has a disease of the liver and will not live long, and that after his death you are to marry Sallenauve, because, on the other side, husbands and wives who really love each other are reunited; and she thinks we shall all four—­she and I and you and Sallenauve—­be much happier together than if we had your present husband, who is very dull, and whom you married reluctantly.

  My message given, nothing remains for me, madame, but to wish you
  all the patience you need to continue for your allotted time in
  this low world, and to subscribe myself
Your very affectionately devoted

Marie-Gaston.

If, after reading this letter, it had occurred to Monsieur de l’Estorade to look at himself in the glass, he would have seen, in the sudden convulsion and discoloration of his face, the outward and visible signs of the terrible blow which his unfortunate curiosity had brought down upon him.  His heart, his mind, his self-respect staggered under one and the same shock; the madness evident in the sort of prediction made about him only added to his sense of its horror.  Presently convincing himself, like a mussulman, that madmen have the gift of second sight, he believed he was a lost man, and instantly a stabbing pain began on his liver side, while in the direction of Sallenauve, his predicted successor, an awful hatred succeeded to his mild good-will.  But at the same time, conscious of the total want of reason and even of the absurdity of the impression which had suddenly surged into his mind, he was afraid lest its existence should be suspected, and he looked about him to see in what way he could conceal from his wife his fatal indiscretion, the consequences of which must forever weigh upon his life.  It was certain, he thought, that if she found the paper in his study she would deduce therefrom the fact that he had read it.  Rising from his desk, he softly opened the door leading from the study to the salon, crossed the latter room on tiptoe, and dropped the letter at the farther end of it, as Madame de l’Estorade might suppose she had herself done in her hasty departure.  Then returning to his study, he scattered his papers over his desk, like a school-boy up to mischief, who wants to mislead his master by a show of application, intending to appear absorbed in his accounts when his wife returned.  Useless to add that he listened with keen anxiety lest some other person than she should come into the salon; in which case he determined to rush out and prevent other eyes from reading the dreadful secrets contained in that paper.