“Towards the middle of that night, a belated passenger through the Rue d’Anjou would have witnessed a curious spectacle. Although the cold was intense, a window was wide open, and by the light of a lamp a man was to be seen leaning upon the balustrade. From time to time, deep-drawn sobs of rage and despair burst from his breast, and he violently pressed his head between his hands, as if to prevent it from splitting. This man was the Count de Marsanne. “The following morning a hackney coach, containing a lady closely veiled, had scarcely turned from the Rue Miromesnil into the Rue Verte, when a man, who for some time previously had paced to and fro, muffled in a large cloak, paused at No. 17 in the former street, dropped the folds of his mantle, and took off a pair of huge green spectacles that had previously concealed his face. The Count de Marsanne, for he it was, remained motionless beside the door whence the coach had driven. From his extreme paleness, and the gloomy immobility of his features, he might have been taken for a statue of stone. “The hackney-coach was scarcely out of sight, when Vassigny appeared at the door of No. 17. On beholding him, the Count’s eyes sparkled; he extended his hand and seized Vassigny by the arm. “‘Will M. de Vassigny,’ he said, ‘honour me with a moment’s interview?’ “Don Juan, dragged towards the abyss by the statue of the Commanditore, cannot have experienced such a feeling of terror as at that moment took possession of Vassigny. “‘Sir,’ ... he stammered, ‘I know not....’ “‘I ask an interview, sir,’ said the Count, with sinister calmness; "I have grave matters to discuss with you; we should not be at our ease in the street; will you be good enough to conduct me to your house.’ “‘Really I know not what you mean.’ “‘I repeat, M. de Vassigny, that I have things to say which none but you must hear. Be so kind as to lead the way.’ “‘My house, as you know, is in the Rue de Provence,’ said Vassigny, with a constrained air. ‘I shall be happy to receive you there.’ “‘Let us go,’ said the Count. “They walked in the direction of the Rue de Provence. By the time he arrived there, Vassigny’s emotion had attained the highest pitch, and his legs bent under him as he ascended the stairs. “A servant introduced the two men into an elegant drawing-room. “There was a moment of terrible silence: Marsanne seemed to have shaken off his gloomy despair: inflexible resolution was legible in his eyes. Vassigny, on the contrary, appeared exhausted and overcome, a criminal awaiting sentence of death. “‘You have seen Madame de Marsanne this morning,’ said the husband, with strange solemnity. “‘Madame de Marsanne!... In Heaven’s name, you are mistaken!’ cried Vassigny. But his tone of voice, and the wild expression of his features, fully confirmed the Count’s words.