"No, for admitting even that I was as mad as I seemed, I deserved, at least, some pity, some interest, and my wife shewed none. Profiting by the solitude in which I lived (for we were then in a large city), she visited and went abroad a great deal, regardless of me. This hardness of heart revolted me. Either my wife was guilty, and my generosity to her ought to have touched her soul, however perverse; or she was innocent, and then the fits of grief which came over me after having vaguely accused her ought to have moved her." "But why did you never frankly open the question? Why did you never boldly state your reproaches?" inquired Pierre Raimond. "Only reflect: I should have but to say to her, 'I suspect you, I accuse you of having twice attempted to assassinate me'--might I not be deceived?" "In truth, the position was a frightful one," said Bertha; "and what was the last occurrence which led to your separation?" [Illustration 14: "One evening, instead of leaning on the rail as usual, I had scarcely touched it when, to my great alarm, it gave way, and fell with a horrid crash!"] "A very short time since," said De Hansfeld, lowering his eyes, "I occupied with my wife an isolated house. I know not why, but my suspicions were renewed with fresh violence, and I very seldom left my apartment. However, sometimes in the evening, I went into a small _belvéder_ at the very top of the house, a kind of very high terrace, surrounded by a light iron rail high enough to rest upon, and upon which I usually leaned my arms to contemplate from a distance the melancholy horizon which a great city presents during the night; and there I sometimes passed hours in deep reverie. One evening, Providence willed it, that instead of leaning and pressing my weight at once upon it, as usual, I placed my hand only upon it. I had scarcely touched it, when, to my great alarm, it gave way and fell with a horrid crash!" "Heaven!" exclaimed Bertha. "The height was so great that the iron grating was broken into fragments when it fell on the stones." "What an atrocious combination!" said Pierre Raimond, raising his hands to heaven.