“That is all right,” said Murville as he put the papers in his pocket. “Now I must hurry to the Bourse, to conclude this important affair.” He kissed Adeline and hurried from the room. She realized that it was not to see her that he had come home; but her heart made excuses for him; she believed him to be entirely engrossed by business. “He loves nobody but me,” she said to herself; “that is the main thing. I must forgive this love of work, and this perfectly natural desire to enrich his wife and children.” Poor Adeline! she did not know what use her husband proposed to make of the money that he was in such haste to obtain. XIX IT WAS NOT HER FAULT Edouard returned in triumph to Dufresne; he was the possessor of a considerable sum of which he could dispose as he pleased, for his wife would never ask him for an accounting, and his mother-in-law had ceased to meddle in his affairs. Dufresne was awaiting Murville impatiently; he was afraid that Adeline would make some objections. But when he saw the precious papers, a smile of satisfaction played about his lips; a sentiment which he tried to dissemble gave to his face a peculiar expression which would have attracted the attention of anybody but Edouard; but he did not give Dufresne time to speak; he urged him to go at once and obtain the funds, and Dufresne made haste to gratify him, fearing that he might change his mind. Adeline waited in vain for her husband to return; the day passed and he did not come. She thought that he had probably been invited to dine by some of his new acquaintances; she tried to reconcile herself to it; but what grieved her most was her husband’s blindness with respect to Dufresne, and the indifference with which he had listened to her story of the outrageous conduct of the man whom he considered his friend. Dufresne’s threats recurred to Adeline’s memory; she thought of her husband’s weakness of will, and she could not help shuddering as she reflected that her happiness, her repose, and her child’s, perhaps, were in the hands of a wicked man, who seemed to be capable of going all lengths to gratify his passions. It was nine o’clock in the evening; Adeline, absorbed in her reflections, was sadly awaiting her husband’s return, when she heard a loud knock at the street door. Soon she heard someone coming upstairs--it was Edouard, of course. She ran to open the door; but it was not he; one of her servants appeared, bringing a letter which a stranger had just left at the door with an urgent request that it be handed to madame at once. The stranger had gone away without waiting for a reply. The servant handed the letter to his mistress and left the room. Adeline broke the seal; the writing was unfamiliar to her; it seemed the work of a weak and tremulous hand; the letter was signed by Madame Dolban. “What can she have to write to me?” thought Adeline; “let me see.” “Madame: