“But I must see her.” “Impossible.” “Tell her that a gentleman who has been sent by M. Galpin desires to see her for a moment. It is the Boiscoran affair.” “Why did you not say so at once?” said the servant. “Come in.” And forgetting, in her hurry, to close the gates again, she went before Jacques through the garden, showed him into the vestibule, and then opened the parlor-door, saying,-- “Will you please go in here and sit down, while I go to tell the countess?” After lighting one of the candles on the mantelpiece, she went out. So far, every thing had gone well for Jacques, and even better than he could have expected. Nothing remained now to be done, except to prevent the countess from going back and escaping, as soon as she should have recognized Jacques. Fortunately the parlor-door opened into the room. He went and put himself behind the open half, and waited there. For twenty-four hours he had prepared himself for this interview, and arranged in his head the very words he would use. But now, at the last moment, all his ideas flew away, like dry leaves under the breath of a tempest. His heart was beating with such violence, that he thought it filled the whole room with the noise. He imagined he was cool, and, in fact, he possessed that lucidity which gives to certain acts of madmen an appearance of sense. He was surprised at being kept waiting so long, when, at last, light steps, and the rustling of a dress, warned him that the countess was coming. She came in, dressed in a long, dark, undress robe, and took a few steps into the room, astonished at not seeing the person who was waiting for her. It was exactly as Jacques had foreseen. He pushed to, violently, the open half of the door; and, placing himself before her, he said,-- “We are alone!” She turned round at the noise, and cried,-- “Jacques!” And terrified, as if she had seen a ghost, she looked all around, hoping to see a way out. One of the tall windows of the room, which went down to the ground, was half open, and she rushed towards it; but Jacques anticipated her, and said,-- “Do not attempt to escape; for I swear I should pursue you into your husband’s room, to the foot of his bed.” She looked at him as if she did not comprehend. “You,” she stammered,--“you here!” “Yes,” he replied, “I am here. You are astonished, are you? You said to yourself, ‘He is in prison, well kept under lock and key: I can sleep in peace. No evidence can be found. He will not speak. I have committed the crime, and he will be punished for it. I am guilty; but I shall escape. He is innocent, and he is lost.’ You thought it was all settled? Well, no, it is not. I am here!” An expression of unspeakable horror contracted the beautiful features of the countess. She said,-- “This is monstrous!” “Monstrous indeed!” “Murderer! Incendiary!” He burst out laughing, a strident, convulsive, terrible laughter. “And you,” he said, “you call me so?”