carried on as it was, during two or three
hour— till indeed the eastern sky was paling
before the coming sun — would have driven
any outside observer away. Let us,
however watch emotions that leave the
lines deeper in the calm, wan face. It
wore even a ghastly pallor, when
protruded between the curtains into the blue
morning light. Madame Perrin seeing the
dawn, appeared to gather energy, and to
set about the object she had evidently
held in view throughout her vigil, with
firmness. From a drawer she took a key,
stealthily, quietly. Then holding it to her
bosom, as a treasure she feared to lose, she
crept to the door, gently opened it, with the
candle in one hand, and glided across the
salon towards the bureau!

In a minute she was before the open desk,
and rolls of gold and notes lay before her.
There was not a drop of blood in her face;
and as her nimble fingers flew about the
treasure — they looked like the fleshless hands
of a skeleton. At every turn she glanced
furtively round. Presently she began to
count the money, and to select some of it.
Unhappy woman! she knew not that two
eyes were glaring upon her — were fixed with
savage ferocity upon her hands. Still she
knew not that as she moved from the desk,
and passed to the salon door, in the cold
gloom, icy hands would be laid upon her
arm, and she would be asked to render up
an account of her theft. Foolish woman!
how cleverly she re-arranged the money she
left in the desk, as she had arranged it before
—so that everything looked as orderly as
when she had first lifted the lid. Still, in
the full confidence of old guilt successfully
concealed, she remained to fold up the
abstracted notes, — and to enclose them in a
letter which she took from her pocket.

And then! Why then the eyes that had
glared upon her ail along, met hers; the
hands that had been clenched in an agony of
suppressed rage fell heavily upon her shoulder;
and her husband bayed out his charge
at her more like a mad dog than a man.
She fell to the ground and moaned, while
Monsieur Perrin, recovering his self-
possession as the words flew through his
lips, poured out all his wrath. It was she
who had stolen his money; who had dared
to see Adolphe sent to prison; who had
calmly slept, while the young man worked
in felon clothes; who had talked trite morals
over his fall; who had seen his agony unmoved
and had borne witness against him. As this
combination of horrors grew to its close,
Julie crept to her fainting mother's side,
and supported her. When Monsieur Perrin
could only pace the room hurriedly, to find
at short intervals new epithets to cast at
the fallen woman, Julie, her eyes brimming
with tears, forgot even Adolphe, in her attention
to a mother from whose lips she had
rarely heard a tender word.

The letter in which Madame Perrin had
enclosed the money, explained all. She had
been gambling on the Bourse. She had won
at times, and had hoarded up her winnings.
She grew miserly as the fascination of the
game fastened itself upon her, and she learned
to care for neither husband nor child. But,
in an evil hour, she had lost all her winnings,
and was in debt. Her agent, with whom she
had stolen interviews, threatened to apply to
her husband for payment, unless his account
was at once settled. She dared not raise
money on her little property near Tours,
lest the mortgage should come to the
knowledge of her husband; there remained but
one resource — to rob him. She reconciled
the act the more readily to her conscience by
persuading or half-persuading herself that a
wife could not steal from a husband. And
so she stole Adolphe's key. That is, she
took it one day, and it was missed before she
had had time to replace it, so that she was
compelled to keep it. It was searched for,
and at last given up. Adolphe bought a
new one. This left her at liberty to draw
more than once upon the cash-box; while
Adolphe, who had neglected for a month or
so to balance his books, and had resolved to
make up for lost time, a few days before that
on which he would go through them, according
to custom, with Monsieur Perrin,
remained for some weeks unconscious of the
deficit. The calmness with which Madame
afterwards saw Adolphe arrested, tried, and
condemned, was feigned, but with a struggle.
She had not the courage left—Adolphe once
arrested — to denounce herself to the world.
Her flight to Tours was simply an escape
from the daily, the hourly torture of her
husband's presence. Her very severity, when
speaking of the young man's crime, was but
the cloak in which it was her incessant
struggle to hide her own guilt more
effectually. The long life of studied hypocrisy
she had led, had well prepared her to play a
virtuously indignant part towards Adolph.

As the grey dawn grew into a brilliant
morning, Monsieur Perrin became less and
less passionate. He spoke at longer intervals
and in a calmer voice than when he began his
chapter of reproaches. He paced the room
less hurriedly. Still, every now and then, as
a new light broke in upon him and showed
him another view of his family disgrace, he
would burst out over more, and pour out a
fresh volley of imprecations. Madame Perrin
never spoke a single word. She left her hand
clasped in that of Julie; and while poor Julie,
pale as death, timidly followed the
movements of her father, without daring to
interpose a syllable. At last, Monsieur Perrin
halted before the sofa; and assuming great
authority said to Madame:

"Leave this by the first train, for Tours:
and there, Madame, have the goodness to
draw up a full and accurate history of this
affair. I shall need it to effect the liberation