Had the Count perhaps had a quarrel with her husband? They had returned to the ball-room together, the Count with his head carried haughtily, Sorr, on the contrary, with an air that seemed to Lucie to express profound despair. Just so pale and downcast had he looked on the day when he told her that the last remnant of his property had been lost at the gaming-table, and that not his money only, but also his honour would be sacrificed if he could not quickly find means to pay his gambling debts. He threatened to put a bullet through his head if Lucie did not sign a power of attorney that placed her maternal inheritance, her whole fortune, at his disposal. He had promised then never to play again, and to alter his whole manner of life. Lucie had long known that he had broken his word, that he had played away her property also, and she only called this scene to mind now because he had the same air of utter despair that had characterized him on this evening when he had followed Repuin into the ball-room. What had happened? Should she ask him? No! Whither could such questions lead? He had long ceased to tell her the truth; and even were he to do so, she might well wish it untold. Even to guess at the dark ways by which he maintained his position in society was misery enough. Why should she wish to know the terrible truth? He must have been playing again; Repuin had probably lost, and some quarrel had ensued, which---- No, she would pursue such thoughts no further. She trembled to think that her husband might have revelations to make to her that would rob her of the last remnant of her peace of mind. The carriage stopped; Sorr got out, and, without troubling himself about his wife, unlocked the door and entered the house. She followed him, and they ascended the stairs in silence. In the anteroom he lighted the two candles left in readiness for them. When they returned from an evening entertainment it was his custom, after lighting the candles, to retire to his room with a curt "good-night," but this he did not do. "I have something to say to you," he said, handing Lucie one of the candles. "I will go with you into the drawing-room." She made no reply; her hand trembled as she took the light. She had a foreboding that a crisis in her destiny was at hand; that the communication which Sorr was about to make to her would be momentous both for her and for him. He went first. In the drawing-room he placed the light upon the table, and then sank upon the sofa as if exhausted. He sat for a long time in silence, his head resting on his hand, his looks bent on the ground. Lucie did not disturb him, but remained standing by the table in front of the sofa, silently watching him, marking the convulsive twitching of his lips, the terrible change in his countenance. She saw the struggle going on within him.