If M. de Camors, at the moment of leaving his luxurious study that evening, had had the bad taste to turn and apply his eye to the keyhole, he would have seen something greatly to astonish even him. He would have seen this “honorable man” approach a beautiful Italian cabinet inlaid with ivory, turn over the papers in the drawers, and finally open in the most natural manner a very complicated lock, the key of which the Count at that moment had in his pocket. It was after this search that M. Vautrot repaired with his volume of Faust to the boudoir of the young Countess, at whose feet we have already left him too long. CHAPTER XVII. LIGHTNING FROM A CLEAR SKY Madame de Camors had closed her eyes to conceal her tears. She opened them at the instant Vautrot seized her hand and called her “Poor angel!” Seeing the man on his knees, she could not comprehend it, and only exclaimed, simply: “Are you mad, Vautrot?” “Yes, I am mad!” Vautrot threw his hair back with a romantic gesture common to him, and, as he believed, to the poets-“Yes, I am mad with love and with pity, for I see your sufferings, pure and noble victim!” The Countess only stared in blank astonishment. “Repose yourself with confidence,” he continued, “on a heart that will be devoted to you until death--a heart into which your tears now penetrate to its most sacred depths!” The Countess did not wish her tears to penetrate to such a distance, so she dried them. A man on his knees before a woman he adores must appear to her either sublime or ridiculous. Unfortunately, the attitude of Vautrot, at once theatrical and awkward, did not seem sublime to the Countess. To her lively imagination it was irresistibly ludicrous. A bright gleam of amusement illumined her charming countenance; she bit her lip to conceal it, but it shone out of her eyes nevertheless. A man never should kneel unless sure of rising a conqueror. Otherwise, like Vautrot, he exposes himself to be laughed at. “Rise, my good Vautrot,” the Countess said, gravely. “This book has evidently bewildered you. Go and take some rest and we will forget this; only you must never forget yourself again in this manner.” Vautrot rose. He was livid. “Madame la Comtesse,” he said, bitterly, “the love of a great heart never can be an offence. Mine at least would have been sincere; mine would have been faithful: mine would not have been an infamous snare!” The emphasis of these words displayed so evident an intention, the countenance of the young woman changed immediately. She moved uneasily on her fauteuil. “What do you mean, Monsieur Vautrot?” “Nothing, Madame, which you do not know, I think,” he replied, meaningly. She rose. “You shall explain your meaning immediately to me, Monsieur!” she exclaimed; “or later, to my husband.” “But your sadness, your tears,” cried the secretary, in a tone of admirable sincerity--“these made me sure you were not ignorant of it!” “Of what? You hesitate! Speak, man!”