Frederic had not the courage to reply, or even to look at Constance. But his eye fell upon his son, and he took him in his arms and covered him with kisses; thereupon Constance's heart received a terrible shock, for the whole truth was laid bare before her.

Dubourg appeared upon the scene, followed by Menard; at sight of Frederic, he divined all that had happened, and he instantly ran to the a.s.sistance of Sister Anne, crying:

"Fainted again! an attack of madness, I'll wager! I told you before, this poor creature has times when she loses her reason."

Constance made no reply; she left Sister Anne to the ministrations of Dubourg and Menard, and returned to her husband, who still held the child in his arms.

"He is lovely--is he not?" she asked, in a trembling voice, with her eyes still fastened on Frederic. He did not speak, whereupon Constance roughly s.n.a.t.c.hed the child from his arms; but soon, repenting of that impulsive movement, which she could not control, she covered the child with kisses, crying in a heart-broken tone:

"Poor child! you are not guilty!"

Dubourg and Menard carried Sister Anne away to the pavilion, leaving Frederic and Constance with the child. Frederic's eyes were fixed on the floor, as if he were afraid to meet those of Constance, who had seated herself a few steps away and had taken little Frederic on her knees. She tried to restrain her tears, but she had not the courage to speak. For some minutes neither of them broke the silence. At last, Frederic raised his eyes and saw his wife caressing Sister Anne's son. At that sight he was on the point of throwing himself at her feet and confessing all, when Dubourg rushed into the room.

"It's all right! I don't think it will amount to anything," he said, motioning to Frederic not to betray himself. "That young woman is subject to attacks of insanity; then she thinks that she sees her lover everywhere. I have already advised madame more than once not to keep her in the house."

"Really," faltered Frederic, trying to recover his self-possession, "I am utterly unable to understand what has happened. I was so agitated by that poor creature's condition--that I didn't realize what I was doing."

Constance said nothing; she simply looked from her husband to Dubourg.

"I'll take her son to her," said the latter, walking toward Constance to take the child.

"Let him stay," said Constance; "Frederic will do that."

Frederic was thrown into confusion again; he could not support his wife's glance. In vain did Dubourg whisper:

"Come, come, morbleu! have your wits about you. Remember that, for her own happiness, you must deceive her."

At that moment Menard appeared, in a comical state of dismay.

"She has recovered her senses," he said to Dubourg, in an undertone; "but it's impossible to make her stay quietly in her room! She's a perfect devil! She insists on seeing him. She's running about the garden like a madwoman."

"Why did you leave her?"

And Dubourg hurried from the room.

"What is the matter?" said Constance; "is she worse?"

"No, madame," replied Menard, who had no idea what he ought to say or do; "but, I'm afraid--her head--these women--love--_quid femina possit_."

"I will go and look after her," said Constance; "I will take her her son, and perhaps, when she sees him---- Aren't you coming with me, Frederic; won't you add your efforts to mine to pacify the poor, unhappy creature?"

Frederic hesitated; he did not know what it was best for him to do. He longed to see Sister Anne, whose terrible plight had torn his heart; but he was afraid of betraying himself when he saw her. At that moment, they heard cries in the garden; they looked out and saw Sister Anne running hither and thither, pursued by the servants and Dubourg. The former, when they saw how intensely excited she was, rushing in all directions, with her hair flying in the wind, had no doubt that she had lost her reason; and Dubourg confirmed them in that idea, which might prevent their guessing the truth.

But Sister Anne spied Frederic at one of the windows on the ground floor; instantly she rushed in that direction, entered the room, and, in the twinkling of an eye, threw herself into Frederic's arms, pushing away Constance, who stood beside him, and looking at her with a jealous and at the same time anxious expression, as if to say:

"I alone have the right to be here."

The servants halted in the doorway and gazed at the picture before them.

Constance felt a terrible sinking at the heart when she saw Sister Anne in her husband's arms; but she retained sufficient strength to walk toward the servants and say in a trembling voice:

"Go, my friends; this unhappy woman is not in her right mind, but we shall be able to pacify her."

The servants retired; Menard had gone in search of Dubourg, to whom he always had recourse at difficult crises; Sister Anne was left alone with her son and Frederic and Constance.

The dumb girl seemed as if she would attach herself inseparably to Frederic, who had not the courage to push her away. She smiled at him, she took his hands and held them to her heart, then pointed to their son. At the same time, she glanced uneasily at Constance, who was seated a few steps away, with her face hidden in her hands, unable to endure that scene. But her tears were suffocating her; they burst forth at last, and she sobbed as if her heart would break. Sister Anne shuddered.

Constance's grief seemed to touch her to the quick. Frederic could contain himself no longer; he ran and threw himself at his wife's feet; but she, without looking at him, gently repulsed him.

"Go, go," she said; "this unhappy girl has more claim to your love than I; this child is your son. Console her for all she has suffered since you deserted her. I know the whole truth now. No; she has not lost her reason; she has found her seducer, the father of her child!"

Frederic was thunderstruck. Pale and trembling, he remained at Constance's feet; and Sister Anne, with her eyes fixed upon his face, seemed to be waiting to hear what he would say. But Frederic seized his wife's hand and covered it with tears and kisses; at that sight a plaintive moan escaped the dumb girl, and again she fell unconscious to the floor.

Constance hastened to her a.s.sistance.

"Leave us," she said to Frederic; "your presence is too painful to her.

Oh! you can trust her to me; I shall be no different to her from what I have always been."

Frederic made no reply, but left the room, in a state of complete bewilderment. He met Dubourg and Menard hurrying toward him.

"The pretence is of no avail," he said; "Constance has divined the truth; she knows all."

"As she knows all," said Menard, "we mustn't conceal anything more from her."

Constance lavished upon Sister Anne the most zealous attention. At last, the dumb girl opened her eyes. When they fell upon Frederic's wife, her first impulse was to push her away; then she looked about in search of Frederic. Constance beckoned to the child, who held out his little arms to his mother. Sister Anne seemed touched by Constance's conduct; she looked at her with less jealousy, but she shuddered from head to foot, her teeth chattered violently, her eyes closed again, and a ghastly pallor overspread her cheeks.

Constance ordered the servants to carry her to the pavilion, where she was put to bed. She was in a raging fever, and was really delirious. Her eyes rolled from side to side with an expression of intense anxiety; she recognized n.o.body, and even repulsed her son.

"Poor dear! I will not abandon you," said Constance; and she pa.s.sed the whole day beside Sister Anne's bed. Not until evening, when she found that she was a little calmer, did she decide to leave her; but she left her in charge of faithful and willing servants, intending to return frequently to ascertain her condition.

She returned to her own apartment, where Frederic awaited her. How different was that day, which reunited them, from those that they had previously pa.s.sed together! Constance said nothing; her heart was drawn hither and thither by a mult.i.tude of conflicting emotions; her bosom rose and fell convulsively, but she tried to conceal her suffering and to appear calm before her husband. Frederic stood before her, motionless, like a criminal awaiting his doom; her kindness made him keenly alive to his wrong-doing. At last he approached her, not daring to speak, and fell at her feet.

"What are you doing?" said Constance, gently; "why do you kneel at my feet? You are not guilty toward me. Ah! it would be more just for you to kneel at the feet of her whom you have betrayed and deserted! I have no right to complain: your fault is only too common among men. You knew this poor girl before your marriage. She has become a mother. But, in the world, your conduct would be considered perfectly natural and proper. Far from blaming you, society would perhaps applaud you for forgetting a woman who could not be your wife. But, I confess, I thought that you were different from the heedless rakes who pride themselves on the tears of which they are the cause. What lamentable results your fault has had! If you only knew all that the unhappy creature has suffered! She was in the last stages of dest.i.tution, actually dying of starvation, when I took her in; yes, dying of starvation--with your son in her arms. Oh! Frederic! do you realize what your remorse would have been? You weep? Ah! my dear, let your tears flow; I would rather lose your heart than believe that it was capable of utter lack of feeling.

Listen: you have found your child's mother; you must not abandon her again. If you will leave everything to me, I will a.s.sure her future; she shall live in a house which I will buy for her in some pleasant place in the country; she shall want nothing. Her son is a dear boy; I would have liked to be a mother to him, but it would be a horrible thing to separate her from her child. He shall have a good education. When he has grown up, you shall decide his fate; and be a.s.sured that I shall never consider anything that you do for him more than you ought to do. That is what I propose to do for the woman you once loved. But it may be that this plan does not satisfy you. Perhaps, on seeing the poor girl again, the love that she formerly inspired in you has revived. Perhaps you love her still. Oh! Frederic, I entreat you to be sincere with me; let me read in the bottom of your heart. There is no sacrifice of which I am not capable to make you happy. Yes, my dear; I shall be able to endure anything--except the sight of your regret for another. If you love her--if you still feel drawn to her--I will go away, I will bury myself on one of our estates; you will not see me again, and you will be at liberty to keep the mother of your child with you."

Constance could no longer hold back the tears that were suffocating her.

She had made a prolonged effort to restrain her feelings, but her courage gave way when she proposed to Frederic that they should part.

"I, leave you!" he cried, throwing his arms about her. "Oh! Constance, can you believe that I have ceased for one instant to love you? No, I swear to you, you alone possess my heart! I realize the wrong I have done; I propose to a.s.sure Sister Anne's future; I must do it. Could I help feeling profoundly moved when I saw her again? And the child--I love him, and I propose to see to his future welfare and happiness; for that you cannot blame me. I approve all your plans; I know the goodness of your heart, the n.o.bility of your soul. How few wives would have acted as you have done! Command me: send Sister Anne away; let her go to-morrow."

"To-morrow! oh! no, dear. The poor child is ill--very ill! she shall not leave this place until she has fully recovered. So long as she is here--you must avoid seeing her; your presence can do her nothing but harm. Promise me that you will not see her; that is the only sacrifice I ask of you."

"I will do whatever you say."

"When she has recovered, I will go with her myself to her new home, and I will not leave her until I am certain that she lacks nothing."

Frederic embraced Constance with profound affection; her kindness of heart made her even dearer to him. A wife ought never to employ any other weapons; reproaches and complaints repel a husband; gentleness and indulgence always end by winning back his heart.

In her husband's arms, Constance found happiness once more; he swore to her that he loved no one but her, and she believed his oaths: could she live without his love?

Early the next morning, Constance went to the pavilion; and Frederic sought Dubourg and Menard, to tell them of his wife's n.o.ble conduct.