But M. de Luceval, who was evidently very angry, seized his wife around the waist and held her as in a vice, saying as he did so:

"You dare to defy me in this fashion, do you, madame?"

M. d'Infreville took advantage of this opportunity to drag Valentine away, the unfortunate woman offering no resistance, but exclaiming, in a voice broken with sobs, as she disappeared from sight:

"Farewell, Florence, farewell!"

Madame de Luceval, pale with grief and indignation, remained perfectly motionless for a moment in the grasp of her husband, who did not relax his hold upon her until after Valentine had left the room.

The young woman then said, in a perfectly calm voice:

"M. de Luceval, you have laid violent hands upon me. From this time on, all is over between us."

"Madame!"

"You have had your way, monsieur; now I shall have mine, as I will prove to you."

"Will you have the goodness to make your wishes known, madame,"

responded H. de Luceval, with a sardonic smile.

"Certainly."

"Go on, madame."

"In the first place, we are to separate, quietly, peaceably, and without the slightest scandal."

"Ah, indeed!"

"It is a thing that is often done, I have heard."

"And at seventeen madame expects to roam about the world as she pleases."

"Roam about the world! Heaven preserve me from that. Travelling is not at all to my taste, as you know, monsieur."

"This is no subject for jesting," exclaimed M. de Luceval, hotly. "Are you really insane enough to imagine that you can live alone and exactly as you please, when your husband has you completely in his power?"

"I have no intention of living alone, monsieur."

"And with whom does madame expect to live, may I ask?"

"Valentine is very unhappy. I intend to live with her and her mother. My fortune is entirely independent of yours, thank Heaven!"

"You intend to live with that woman,--a woman who has had a lover, a woman that her husband will drive out of his house this very night--and he is perfectly right!--a woman who deserves the contempt of all decent people. It is with a creature like that you propose to live. The mere announcement of such an intention on your part is quite enough to put you in a madhouse, madame."

"M. de Luceval, the extremely disagreeable events of the day have fatigued me very much, and you will oblige me by not annoying me further. I shall merely add that if any one deserves the contempt of all decent people, it is M. d'Infreville, for it was his shameful treatment of his wife that drove her to ruin. As for Valentine, what she deserves, and will always be sure of from me, is the tenderest compa.s.sion."

"Why, this is outrageous! It is enough to put you in a madhouse, I tell you!"

"Understand me once for all, M. de Luceval. No one will shut me up in a madhouse. I shall have my liberty, and you will have yours; and I shall make such use of mine as I think proper."

"We will see about that, madame!"

"Or rather, you will see, monsieur."

CHAPTER VII.

FOUR YEARS LATER.

Four years have elapsed since the events we have just related.

It is a winter's day; the cold is intense, the sky gray and lowering. A woman is walking down the Rue de Vaugirard, pausing now and then to glance at the numbers on the houses, as if in search of some particular one.

This woman, who is dressed in mourning, seems to be about twenty-three years of age. She is tall and slender, a decided brunette, with large black eyes, full of expression. Her features are regular, though a little haggard, and her mobile face reveals, in turn, a bitter sadness or a mingled anxiety and impatience. Her quick, somewhat irregular tread also betrays deep agitation.

When this young woman had walked nearly half way down the street, she paused again to study the numbers, and finding herself opposite Number 57, she gave a quick start, and pressed her hand upon her heart, as if to quiet its throbbings; then, after standing a moment perfectly motionless, she directed her steps towards the porte-cochere, then paused again in evident hesitation, but having seen several notices announcing that there were apartments to rent in the house, she resolutely entered the courtyard and walked straight to the porter's lodge.

"You have several apartments to rent, I see, monsieur," she said to the concierge.

"Yes, madame. The first and the third floor, and two separate rooms."

"The first floor would be too dear for me, I fear. The third would probably suit me better. What do you ask for it?"

"Six hundred francs, madame. That is the lowest, for it has just been freshly done up."

"How many rooms are there?"

"A kitchen, a small dining-room, a parlour, a large bedchamber with a big dressing-room, and another small room that would do for a servant.

If madame will go up-stairs, she can see for herself."

"I would first like to know who lives in the house. I am a widow and live alone, so you can understand why I ask this question."

"Certainly, madame. The house is very respectable and extremely quiet.

The first floor is not occupied, as I told you. A professor in the law school, a highly respectable man, lives on the second floor. He has a wife but no children. The third floor is the one I offered to madame. On the fourth floor there are two small rooms which are occupied by a young man. When I say a young man I don't exactly mean that, however, for M.

Michel Renaud must be about thirty."

On hearing the name of Michel Renaud, the young woman, in spite of her self-control, turned first red and then pale, a sad smile flitted across her lips, and her large black eyes gleamed more brightly under their long lashes; but, conquering her emotion, she replied calmly and with a well-feigned air of indifference:

"And the rooms on the third floor are directly under those occupied by this gentleman, I suppose?"

"Yes, madame."

"Is the gentleman married?"

"No, madame."