All her husband's efforts to extort a word from her proved futile, however, and despairing, at last, of overcoming his wife's obstinacy, he departed, in high dudgeon.

M. de Luceval was perfectly sincere in saying what he did, for, being pa.s.sionately fond of travel himself, he could not believe that his wife really loathed it, and he was the more incredulous on this point as, when he married Florence, he had persuaded himself that a child of sixteen, an orphan, who had spent her life in a convent, could not have much will of her own, and would be delighted to travel. In fact, he had felt certain that such a proposal would prove a delightful surprise to her.

His notary had told him of an orphan girl of sixteen, with a lovely face, an exquisite figure, and a fortune of more than a million francs, which, invested in the business of her guardian, a famous banker, yielded a yearly income of eighty thousand francs. M. de Luceval gave sincere thanks to Heaven and his notary. He saw the young girl, thought her ravishingly beautiful, fell in love with her, married her, and, when the awakening came, he had the simplicity to marvel at the loss of his illusions, and the credulity to believe that right, persistency, threats, force, and the law would have some effect upon the will of a woman who entrenches herself in a pa.s.sive resistance.

A few minutes after M. de Luceval had taken his departure, Lise, the maid, entered the room with a rather frightened air, and said to her mistress:

"A lady, who says her name is Madame d'Infreville, is down at the door, in a carriage."

"Valentine!" exclaimed the young marquise, in accents of joyful surprise. "It is ages since I saw her. Ask her to come up at once."

"But that is impossible, madame."

"And why?"

"The lady sent, through the concierge, for madame's maid. Some one told me and I went down at once. When I got there, the lady, who was frightfully pale, said to me: 'Mademoiselle, go to Madame de Luceval and ask her to have the goodness to come down here for a moment. I want to speak to her on a very important matter. Tell her that my name is Madame d'Infreville,--Valentine d'Infreville.'"

Lise had scarcely uttered these words before a footman entered the room, after having knocked, and said to Florence:

"Will madame la marquise see Madame d'Infreville?"

"What!" exclaimed Florence, greatly surprised at this sudden change in her friend's resolution, "is Madame d'Infreville here?"

"Yes, madame."

"Then show her in at once," said Madame de Luceval, rising to meet her friend, whom she embraced affectionately, and with whom she was a moment afterwards left alone.

CHAPTER II.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

Valentine d'Infreville was three years older than Madame de Luceval, and a striking contrast to her in every way, though equally beautiful and attractive.

Tall, lithe, and slender, without being thin, and a decided brunette in colouring,--she had beautiful eyes, full of fire, and black as her long, luxuriant hair, and rich scarlet lips, shaded by the slightest suspicion of down, while her thin nostrils, which quivered and dilated with the slightest emotion, the excessive mobility of her features, her animated gestures, and even the rather virile timbre of her contralto voice, all indicated that she was the possessor of an ardent and impa.s.sioned nature. She had first met Florence at the Convent of the Sacred Heart, where they had become very intimate. Valentine had left the convent to be married a year before her friend, and though she afterwards came to see Florence several times at the convent, for several months prior to her marriage with M. de Luceval, Florence, to her great surprise, had seen nothing of her friend, and since that time their intercourse had been confined to a correspondence which had been very irregular on the part of Madame d'Infreville, who was, she declared, absorbed with household cares; so the two friends had not seen each other for more than six months.

Madame de Luceval, after having tenderly embraced her friend, noticed her unusual pallor as well as her extreme agitation, and asked, anxiously:

"Valentine, what is the matter? My maid told me first that you wished to see me, but that you did not want to come in."

"I seem to have lost my head completely, Florence. I am nearly mad, I believe."

"You frighten me. Explain, for pity's sake!"

"Florence, will you save me from a terrible misfortune?"

"Speak, speak! Am I not your friend, though you have deserted me for the last six months?"

"I did very wrong. I have been unkind and ungrateful, I know, and yet I appeal to you now."

"It is the only way to gain my forgiveness."

"Always the same generous Florence!"

"But now tell me, quick, what can I do for you?"

"Have you writing materials here?"

"Over there on that table."

"Then write what I dictate, I beg of you. It may save me."

"This paper has my initials on it. Does that make any difference?"

"On the contrary, it is all the better, as you are the person who is supposed to be writing to me."

"Go on, then, Valentine. I am ready."

So Madame d'Infreville dictated the following in a strangely altered voice, pausing now and then, so great was her emotion.

"'The recollection of the pleasant hours we spent together yesterday is so delightful, my dear Valentine,--though I really can not say that it was in any respect a more charming day than last Wednesday,--that at the risk of seeming both selfish and importunate, I am going to ask you to give me Sunday.'"

"Give me Sunday," repeated Florence, greatly surprised at this beginning.

"'Our programme shall be the same,'" continued

Madame d'Infreville. "Underline programme," she added, with a bitter smile, then resumed:

"'Our _programme_ shall be the same: breakfast at eleven, a stroll in the garden, embroidery, music, and conversation until seven o'clock, then dinner and afterwards a drive in the Bois de Boulogne in an open carriage if the evening is fine, after which I shall take you home at ten o'clock as I did yesterday.

"'Answer me yes or no, but let it be a yes, and you will make very happy your devoted

"'FLORENCE.'"

"Your devoted Florence," repeated Madame de Luceval; then, with a half smile, she added: "It is certainly cruel in you, Valentine, to dictate such a programme to excite my envy and regret; but the time for reproaches or explanations will come presently. I will have my revenge then. Is that all, my dear Valentine?"

"Put my address on the note, seal it, and have it sent to my house at once."

Madame de Luceval was about to ring when she paused as if a new thought had suddenly struck her, and she said to her friend, with some slight embarra.s.sment:

"Valentine, I do hope you will not take offence at what I am about to say to you."

"Go on."