Thus saying, he hurried away, and was absent for several minutes, during which time the Marchioness talked in a low voice to the priest. But the Count remained standing in the middle of the room, with his eyes bent down and his heart sad. He could not but recollect the days that were passed. The boy whom he had brought up from early years, the graces and high qualities he had displayed, and many a little act, and many a little scene, forgotten till that moment, rose up reproachfully before his eyes, and for the time filled him with grief, and with remorse. The voice of conscience, which in its own hour will be heard, told him that the deed was his, that, had he not attempted to injure and deceive his sister's son, all the long train of dark and sad events, which had filled the last few days, would not have happened, that joy, and peace, and mutual love, and kindly affection might have reigned, where strife and evil passion, violence and death, had been introduced, as the black followers of fraud. His brother and his nephew, both were gone in a few short days; and his heart told him, that the virtuous and the good had been cut off, while the dishonest and the vile remained! It was but during a few minutes, however, that such thoughts oppressed him; for vanity, his besetting sin, the besetting sin of so many, the salve with which the devil medicates all the wounds of conscience was soon brought to his relief. He was too vain to believe, for any length of time, that he could do wrong, even though the warning angel of the human heart thundered it in his ear. "Had De Montigni done as he was asked," he thought, after he had mastered the first impression, "nothing of this kind would have happened. It is all in consequence of his own obstinacy. What a sad thing it is, that men will not be persuaded to their own good!" As these comforting reflections passed through his mind, Chazeul re-entered the hall. "He is dead," he cried, "beyond all doubt he is dead. The man himself saw Nemours come back into the city, alone and uninjured." "Well, then," said Madame de Chazeul, "we are saved all farther trouble; for now you are the only heir. You had better go and tell her the news, Chazeul. Perhaps it may deliver her from as great an embarrassment as any one feels." "Fie now, Jacqueline! Fie now!" cried the Count. "You know not her heart or feelings." "I know very well, my good brother," replied Madame de Chazeul, "that women if they have said a thing, often adhere to it with the constancy of a martyr, when they would give their right hand for a fair excuse for changing; but vanity keeps them to the point, with a much firmer sort of resolution than conviction can supply. Do not tell me about her feelings! I know my own sex far better than you do; and I am sure there is not one woman out often, who would not rejoice at the death of her dearest friend, if it delivered her from a great embarrassment."