"Upon my word, my dear marquis," exclaimed Rodolph, "our enemies have shown themselves bunglers after all! They have afforded you an opportunity you might never otherwise have obtained, of rightly appreciating the tender devotion of your incomparable wife, whose affection for you, I venture to say, has shone out more brightly and steadily under the machinations of those who seek to render us miserable, than amidst all the former part of your wedded life; so that we are enabled to take a sweet revenge for the mischief intended to be effected: that is some consolation, while awaiting a fuller atonement for this diabolical attempt. I strongly suspect the quarter from which this scheme has emanated; and however patiently I may bear my own wrongs, I am not of a nature to suffer those offered to my friends to remain unpunished. This, however, is my affair. Adieu, madame,--our intrigue is discovered; and you will be no more at liberty to work alone in befriending your protegees. But, never mind! Before long we will get up some mysterious enterprise, impossible to be found out; and we will even defy the marquis, with all his penetration, to know more than we choose to tell him." * * * * * After accompanying Rodolph to his carriage with reiterated thanks and praises, the marquis retired to his apartments without again seeing Clemence. CHAPTER VII. REFLECTIONS. It would be difficult to describe the tumultuous and opposing sentiments that agitated M. d'Harville when alone. He reflected with delight on the detection of the unworthy falsehood charged upon Rodolph and Clemence; but he was, at the same time, thoroughly convinced that he must for ever forego the hope of being loved by her. The more Clemence had proved herself, in her conversation with Rodolph, resigned, full of courage, and bent on acting rightly, the more bitterly did M. d'Harville reproach himself for having, in his culpable egotism, chained the lot of his unhappy young wife to his own. Far from being consoled by the conversation he had overheard, he fell into a train of sorrowful thought and indescribable anguish. Riches, without occupation, bring with them this wretchedness. Nothing can divert it, nothing relieve it, from the deepest feelings of mental torture. Not being compulsorily preoccupied by cares for the future or daily toil, it is utterly exposed to heavy moral affliction. Able to acquire all that money can purchase, it desires or regrets with intense violence-- "What gold could never buy." The mental torture of M. d'Harville was intense, for, after all, what he desired was only what was just, and actually legal,--the society, if not the love, of his wife. But, when placed beside the inexorable refusal of Clemence, he asked himself if there was not the bitterest derision in these words of the law: The wife belongs to her husband.