The soothing calm of the autumnal day had its influence upon Count Agenor, as he rode slowly homeward over the steppe, the air vibrating with the music of the noonday bells. He started off early in the morning, after a sleepless night, during which he had been tossed and shaken as by spirits of evil. That had come to pass which was inevitable after he had yielded to the tempter and gone to the Wiliszenski recital. Since then, thanks to the ingenuity of the magistrate, he had often met the beautiful Jewess alone, and knew now he had no need to ask her whether she comprehended that sensation which Christians call love. Since yesterday, too, he felt he no longer required the medium so obnoxious to him; for Judith had been in the park alone, had fallen on his breast; his arm had clasped her youthful form, his lips had dared to touch hers. And she had promised to go again, and he knew she would keep her word. True, he did not expect to attain his desire to-day; weeks might elapse before he wakened the passion in her which raged in his veins. But the hour must come when she would be his. Yet this certainly did not make him happy. Quite the contrary. Never before had he felt so sad. For, as she had said, he was an honest man. The handsome Uhlan officer had enjoyed almost everything that the beauty of woman could offer him. But on one point his conscience was clear. He had enticed no wife from her husband's side; he had brought no girl to misery. This was to be partly attributed to his exquisite sense of the requirements of his noble birth, partly to the subjection he was still under to his late father's wishes. This clever and good man had early recognized that, in spite of many noble qualities, his son was lacking in that which was most important for the head of an impoverished branch of a noble house; that is, energy of character and the power to say "no." So, with the best of motives, he had striven to maintain and increase his influence over him. It was principally owing to this that Agenor had always so scrupulously held himself above reproach, until the death of his father made him the head of the family. Never had a lie passed his lips. But now he had lied and cheated, and if he wished to attain his desires he must continue to do so. The young count had won Judith because she thought him noble and knightly, and free from prejudices against her nation. She trusted entirely in his love and honor. One word about the gulf that divided them, one intimation of the impossibility of making her his wife, and she was lost to him forever. As yet she had said nothing to him about the future--but if she did? And even if she did not, and he kept silence, or was only ambiguous in his speech, would it rest any less lightly on his conscience?