But you think you will be his wife, and I never was.  What does that matter?  What does he tell you?  That he will love you forever, because his love is under the protection of God and of men.  He told me, precisely because our love was not thus protected, that we should be united by indissoluble bonds,—­bonds stronger than all others.  You have his promise:  so had I. And the proof of it is that I gave him every thing,—­my honor and the honor of my family, and that I would have given him still more, if there had been any more to give.  And now to be betrayed, forsaken, despised, to sink lower and lower, until at last I must become the object of your pity!  To have fallen so low, that you should dare come and offer me to give up Jacques for my benefit!  Ah, that is maddening!  And I should let the vengeance I hold in my hands slip from me at your bidding!  I should be stupid enough, blind enough, to allow myself to be touched by your hypocritical tears!  I should secure your happiness by the sacrifice of my reputation!  No, madam, cherish no such hope!”

Her voice expired in her throat in a kind of toneless rattle.  She walked up and down a few times in the room.  Then she placed herself straight before Dionysia, and, looking fixedly into her eyes, she asked,—­

“Who suggested to you this plan of coming here, this supreme insult which you tried to inflict upon me?”

Dionysia was seized with unspeakable horror, and hardly found heart to reply.

“No one,” she murmured.

“M.  Folgat?”

“Knows nothing of it.”

“And Jacques?”

“I have not seen him.  The thought occurred to me quite suddenly, like an inspiration on high.  When Dr. Seignebos told me that you had refused to admit the priest from Brechy, I said to myself, ’This is the last misfortune, and the greatest of them all!  If Count Claudieuse dies without retracting, Jacques can never be fully restored, whatever may happen hereafter, not even if his innocence should be established.’  Then I made up my mind to come to you.  Ah! it was a hard task.  But I was in hopes I might touch your heart, or that you might be moved by the greatness of my sacrifice.”

The countess was really moved.  There is no heart absolutely bad, as there is none altogether good.  As she listened to Dionysia’s passionate entreaty, her resolution began to grow weaker.

“Would it be such a great sacrifice?” she asked.

Tears sprang to the eyes of the poor young girl.

“Alas!” she said, “I offer you my life.  I know very well you will not be long jealous of me.”

She was interrupted by groans, which seemed to come from the room in which the count was lying.

The countess half-opened the door; and immediately a feeble, and yet imperious voice was heard calling out,—­

“Genevieve, I say, Genevieve!”

“I am coming, my dear, in a moment,” replied the countess.