guilty.  Yes, I call it a crime; because the audacious deception of which you accuse me would not deserve any other name.  Really, my poor child, it is hard—­very hard—­and I now see, that an independent spirit may sometimes exhibit as much injustice and intolerance as the most narrow mind.  It does not incense me—­no—­it only pains me:  yes, I assure you—­it pains me cruelly.”  And the doctor drew his hand across his moist eyes.

It is impossible to give the accent, the look, the gesture of M. Baleinier, as he thus expressed himself.  The most able and practiced lawyer, or the greatest actor in the world, could not have played this scene with more effect than the doctor—­or rather, no one could have played it so well—­M.  Baleinier, carried away by the influence of the situations, was himself half convinced of what he said.

In few words, he felt all the horror of his own perfidy but he felt also that Adrienne could not believe it; for there are combinations of such nefarious character, that pure and upright minds are unable to comprehend them as possible.  If a lofty spirit looks down into the abyss of evil, beyond a certain depth it is seized with giddiness, and no longer able to distinguish one object from the other.

And then the most perverse of men have a day, an hour, a moment, in which the good instincts, planted in the heart of every creature, appear in spite of themselves.  Adrienne was too interesting, was in too cruel a position, for the doctor mot to feel some pity for her in his heart; the tone of sympathy, which for some time past he had been obliged to assume towards her, and the sweet confidence of the young girl in return, had become for this man habitual and necessary ratifications.  But sympathy and habit were now to yield to implacable necessity.

Thus the Marquis d’Aigrigny had idolized his mother; dying, she called him to her—­and he turned away from the last prayer of a parent in the agony of death.  After such an example, how could M. Baleinier hesitate to sacrifice Adrienne?  The members of the Order, of which he formed a part, were bound to him—­but he was perhaps still more strongly bound to them, for a long partnership in evil creates terrible and indissoluble ties.

The moment M. Baleinier finished his fervid address to Mdlle. de Cardoville, the slide of the wicket in the door was softly pushed back, and a pair of eyes peered attentively into the chamber, unperceived by the doctor.

Adrienne could not withdraw her gaze from the physician’s, which seemed to fascinate her.  Mute, overpowered, seized with a vague terror, unable to penetrate the dark depths of this man’s soul, moved in spite of herself by the accent of sorrow, half feigned and half real—­the young lady had a momentary feeling of doubt.  For the first time, it came into her mind, that M. Baleinier might perhaps be committing a frightful error—­committing it in good faith.

Besides, the anguish of the past night, the dangers of her position, her feverish agitation, all concurred to fill her mind with trouble and indecision.  She looked at the physician with ever increasing surprise, and making a violent effort not to yield to a weakness, of which she partly foresaw the dreadful consequences, she exclaimed:  “No, no, sir; I will not, I cannot believe it.  You have too much skill, too much experience, to commit such an error.”