What should she do? whither should she go? For the first time in her life she could understand the feeling which prompted wretched outcast women to stand upon the parapet of a bridge and cast their miserable bodies into the depths of the blackened river; at least their woes would be ended--their weary bodies be at rest. She felt that such a death would be acceptable to her that night. Oh, if she could only leap into the darkness, and end it all! She gathered up the letters, which still lay upon her table, threw off her bonnet, which lay like a weight upon her head, and opened her door. It was still early enough for Belleisle to be up. She would see him, speak to him; she could not wait another hour, with that newly acquired knowledge on he mind. With this idea she left her chamber, looked first into one room, then another--and was about to return to her own in despair, when she was arrested by the sound of voices, which she recognised as those of her husband and Madame de Fontenay. She paused and listened. The pair were closeted in Madame de Fontenay’s private room, and their conversation was of an exciting nature. Madeline soon heard her own name. ‘Emile, you are a fool,’ says Madame de Fontenay; ‘why he stays away I know not. I only know that one little note from Madeline will bring him back again.’ ‘And if he comes?’ ‘If he comes, _mon ami_, you can win from him a few more hundreds, and then make a quarrel, refuse to give him the little one’s hand, and rid yourself of him for ever.’ For a time they were silent, or spoke in undertones. Madeline was about to open the door and break up their converse, when the widow raised her voice and spoke again. ‘You are a fool,’ she said hotly, ‘and although I advise you well, you, by your bungling, upset all my plans. Did I not advise you to provide for the future by entering a good school, and marrying, either by fair means or foul, the richest girl that the rich school contained? Yes. But you, like a fool, ran off with the poorest, and did your very best to ensure your own ruin.’ ‘I did not know that the girl was poor.’ ‘Did not know! it was your duty, my friend, to ascertain that she was rich. Well, we need not complain now. Thanks to me again, the silly girl has been useful to you, and will be so again. Listen, then----’ But Madeline, trembling outside, could bear it no longer; she turned the handle of the door, and entered the room. She still wore her walking dress; her face was white as death, her hands trembling and cold; while her fingers closed nervously around the packet of letters which she held. Madame de Fontenay, who believed that her dupe was quietly sleeping, gave a little scream; Belleisle started to his feet. ‘Madeline, _diable!_ what brings you here?’ he exclaimed, thrown off his guard.