"Is it not possible," she suggested, with that quiet sureness of judgment which, I think, is rarely given to women, "that Miste is alone responsible and the criminal? Of course, I cannot explain the Baron Giraud's disappearance--but it is surely possible that Miste may have murdered the Vicomte and thrown his body into the Seine." "No, Madame, there has been no murder done." "You are sure?" "I have, since the war, seen the Vicomte alive and well." Chapter XXIX At La Pauline "Le plus lent a promettre est toujours le plus fidele a tenir." The tale was thus told to her whom it most concerned, clearly and without reservation. The details are, however, known to the patient reader, and call for no recapitulation here. When Madame de Clericy heard the end of it--namely, the sad fate of the unfortunate _Principe Amadeo_ and all, save two, on board that steamer--she sat in silence for some moments, and indeed made no comment at any other time. Assuredly none was needed, nor could any human words add to or detract from that infallible Divine judgment which had so ruled our lives. For when one who is dear to us has forfeited our love by one of those great and sorrowful alterations of the mind, scarce amounting to madness, and yet near akin to it, which, alas! are frequently enough brought about by temptation or an insufficient self control--surely, then, it is only Heaven's kindness that takes from us the erring one and leaves but a brief memory of his fall. Has not a great writer said that a dead sorrow is better than a living one? I rose to my feet and stood for a moment in the doorway of the summerhouse, intending to leave Madame with her dead grief. But as I crossed the threshold her quiet voice arrested me. "Mon ami!" she said, and, as I paused without looking round, presently went on--well pleased, perhaps, that I should not see her face. "One mistake you make in the kindness of your heart, for you are a stern man with a soft heart, as many English are--you grieve too much for me. Of course, it is a sorrow--but it is not the great sorrow. You understand?" "I think so." "That came to me many years ago, and was not connected with the Vicomte de Clericy, but with one who had no title beyond that of gentleman--and I think there is none higher. It is an old story, and one that is too often enacted in France, where convenience is placed before happiness and money above affection. My life has been, well--happy. Lucille has made it so. And I have an aim in existence which is in itself a happiness--to make Lucille's life a happy one, to ensure her that which I have missed, and to avoid a mistake made by generation after generation of women--namely, to believe that love comes to us after marriage. It never does so, my friend--never. Tolerance may come, or, at the best, affection--which is making an ornament of brass and setting it up where there should be gold--or nothing."