Weeks followed weeks, without changing this manner of life, and autumn came, bringing the reopening of the Chamber, earlier than usual because of certain political dangers.

On the day of the reopening, the Comte de Guilleroy was to take to the meeting of Parliament Madame de Mortemain, the Marquis, and Annette, after a breakfast at his own house.  The Countess alone, isolated in her sorrow, which was steadily increasing, had declared that she would remain at home.

They had left the table and were drinking coffee in the large drawing-room, in a merry mood.  The Count, happy to resume parliamentary work, his only pleasure, talked very well concerning the existing situation and of the embarrassments of the Republic; the Marquis, unmistakably in love, answered him brightly, while gazing at Annette; and the Duchess was almost equally pleased with the emotion of her nephew and the distress of the government.  The air of the drawing-room was warm with that first concentrated heat of newly-lighted furnaces, the heat of draperies, carpets, and walls, in which the perfumes of asphyxiated flowers was evaporating.  There was in this closely shut room, filled with the aroma of coffee, an air of comfort, intimate, familiar, and satisfied, when the door was opened before Olivier Bertin.

He paused at the threshold, so surprised that he hesitated to enter, surprised as a deceived husband who beholds his wife’s crime.  A confusion of anger and mingled emotion suffocated him, revealing to him the fact that his heart was worm-eaten with love!  All that they had hidden from him, and all that he had concealed from himself appeared before him as he perceived the Marquis installed in the house, as a betrothed lover!

He understood, in a transport of exasperation, all that which he would rather not have known and all that the Countess had not dared to tell him.  He did not ask himself why all those preparations for marriage had been concealed from him.  He guessed it, and his eyes, growing hard, met those of the Countess, who blushed.  They understood each other.

When he was seated, everyone was silent for a few seconds, his unexpected entrance having paralyzed their flow of spirits; then the Duchess began to speak to him, and he replied in a brief manner, his voice suddenly changed.

He looked around at these people who were now chatting again, and said to himself:  “They are making game of me.  They shall pay for it.”  He was especially vexed with the Countess and Annette, whose innocent dissimulation he suddenly understood.

“Oh, oh! it is time to go,” exclaimed the Count, looking at the clock.  Turning to the painter, he added:  “We are going to the opening of Parliament.  My wife will remain here, however.  Will you accompany us?  It would give me great pleasure.”

“No, thanks,” replied Olivier drily.  “Your Chamber does not tempt me.”

Annette approached in a playful way, saying:  “Oh, do come, dear master!  I am sure that you would amuse us much more than the deputies.”