Thus the projects of which M. d'Harville had talked with his steward and his friends,--those happy confidences to his old servant, the surprise which he proposed for his wife, were all but so many precautions for the public credulity. How could it be supposed that a man so preoccupied as to the future, so anxious to please his wife, could think of killing himself? His death was, therefore, attributed to imprudence, and could not be attributed to anything else. As to his determination, an incurable despair had dictated that. By showing herself as affectionate towards him, and as tender as she had formerly been cold and disdainful, by again appearing to entertain a high regard, Clemence had awakened in the heart of her husband deep remorse. Seeing her so sadly resigned to a long life without love, passed with a man visited by an incurable and frightful malady, and utterly persuaded that, after her solemn conversation, Clemence could never subdue the repugnance with which he inspired her, M. d'Harville was seized with a profound pity for his wife, and an entire disgust for himself and for life. In the exasperation of his anguish, he said to himself: "I only love,--I never can love,--but one woman in the world, and she is my own wife. Her conduct, full of noble-heartedness and high mind, would but increase my mad passion, if it be possible to increase it. And she, my wife, can never belong to me! She has a right to despise,--to hate me! I have, by base deceit, chained this young creature to my hateful lot! I repent it bitterly. What, then, should I do for her? Free her from the hateful ties which my selfishness has riveted upon her. My death alone can break those rivets; and I must, therefore, die by my own hand!" This was why M. d'Harville had accomplished this great,--this terrible sacrifice. The inexorable immutability of the law sometimes makes certain terrible positions irremediable, and, as in this case (as divorce was unattainable), only allows the injury to be effaced by an additional crime. CHAPTER IX. ST. LAZARE. The prison of St. Lazare, especially devoted to female thieves and prostitutes, is daily visited by many ladies, whose charity, whose names, and whose social position command universal respect. These ladies, educated in the midst of the splendours of fortune,--these ladies, properly belonging to the best society,--come every week to pass long hours with the miserable prisoners of St. Lazare; watching in these degraded souls for the least indication of an aspiration towards good, the least regret for a past criminal life, and encouraging the good tendencies, urging repentance, and, by the potent magic of the words, Duty, Honour, Virtue, withdrawing from time to time one of these abandoned, fallen, degraded, despised creatures, from the depths of utter pollution.