“Do you remember,” she said, “some seventeen years ago addressing that same promise to me, and with about as much justification? My suitor, too, was upright, well bred, and good looking. Now, mother dear, as you have not seen or guessed how matters stand with me, hear once for all; your promise has _not_ brought its fulfillment.” “Elizabeth!” cried my father and mother together. Bernhard, who at first had listened with somewhat skeptical smile, suddenly sunk his head. Mme. Duphot had risen, and slipped out of the room like a shadow. With a calm that chilled me to the heart, Elizabeth continued: “That love, which as a matter of course was to come with marriage, enveloping me in blessed blindness, in happy deception, came not. My heart remained cold, my eyes clear, and with those clear eyes of mine I saw my upright, well-bred husband through and through----” She gave a short hard laugh. “It was no edifying spectacle.” I had been so shocked at Elizabeth’s words, above all by the decided manner in which she had said them, that I had not ventured to look at my parents. I cast a furtive glance at the chair previously occupied by Bernhard. It was empty; my brother had risen, and was standing by the window near to which Elizabeth was sitting, looking earnestly at her, but, to my relief, not angrily. “What does this mean?” asked papa. “What accusation do you bring against your husband? He has never acted other than as a gentleman; never been guilty of a single reprehensible action.” “Never! He has never wronged another in the matter of honor or property,” returned Elizabeth; “nor has he ever, of his own free will, stirred a finger to help another, let alone made any sacrifice for anyone; has never forgotten self for the sake of any living creature. He has no notion of generosity, or of the beautiful, save”--and a roguish look flashed across her face--“when he comes across it in the shape of some old oak chest or rusty spur, lost four centuries ago by some brave knight intent on plundering a traveling merchant.” “My dear Elizabeth!” said Bernhard reproachfully, as, standing now behind her, he laid his hand on the back of her chair. “I know I ought not to talk like this,” she answered. “It has never happened before, and would not to-day, were it not for the sake of saving this child from the fate which has befallen me.” Dear mamma was in a state of greatest agitation and perplexity. “You exaggerate cruelly, Elizabeth,” said she reproachfully. “You accuse your parents, and speak unbefittingly of your husband.” Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, so I do! But then I have promised my sister to stand by her in her hard fight between the filial obedience she would so gladly show to you, and the aversion she feels for the count.” “Aversion,” muttered my father; “absurd!”