The criminal thought she had suggested was, he knew, only a feint to test him, but it was enough to justify his abandonment of her.  As to the violent and menacing words the Marquise had used, he held them of little value, though at times the remembrance of them troubled him.  Nevertheless, for many years he had not felt his heart so light.  This wicked tie once broken, it seemed as if he had resumed, with his liberty, his youth and virtue.  He walked and played a part of the day with his little son.  After dinner, just as night fell, clear and pure, he proposed to Madame de Camors a tete-a-tete excursion in the woods.  He spoke to her of a view which had struck him shortly before on such a night, and which would please, he said laughingly, her romantic taste.

He would not permit himself to be surprised at the disinclination she manifested, at the disquietude which her face indicated, or at the rapid glance she exchanged with her mother.

The same thought, and that a most fearful one; entered the minds of both these unfortunate women at the same moment.

They were still under the impression of the shock which had so weakened their nerves, and the brusque proposition of M. de Camors, so contrary to his usual habits-the hour, the night, and the solitary walk—­had suddenly awakened in their brains the sinister images which Madame de la Roche-Jugan had laid there.  Madame de Camors, however, with an air of resolution the circumstances did not seem entitled to demand, prepared immediately to go out, then followed her husband from the house, leaving her little son in charge of her mother.  They had only to cross the garden to find themselves on the edge of the wood which almost touched their dwelling, and which stretched to the old fields inherited from the Comte de Tecle.  The intention of Camors in seeking this tete-a-tete was to confide to his wife the decisive determination he had taken of delivering up to her absolutely and without reserve his heart and life, and to enjoy in these solitudes his first taste of true happiness.  Surprised at the cold distraction with which his young wife replied to the affectionate gayety of his language, he redoubled his efforts to bring their conversation to a tone of more intimacy and confidence.  While stopping at intervals to point out to her some effects of light and shadow in their walk, he began to question her on her recent trip to Paris, and on the persons she had seen there.  She named Madame Jaubert and a few others; then, lowering her voice against her will, mentioned Madame de la Roche-Jugan.

“That one,” said Camors, “you could very well have dispensed with.  I forgot to warn you that I no longer recognize her.”

“Why?” asked she, timidly.

“Because she is a bad woman,” said Camors.  “When we are a little more intimate with each other, you and I,” he added, laughing, “I shall edify you on this character, I shall tell you all—­all, understand.”