"'And you would accept the equal chances,' said I.

"'Well, come,' said he, 'I have at home, to enable me to wait till
to-morrow, a dose of opium which Desplein prepared for me to send me
to sleep without any risk!'

"Next day at noon Gobain brought me a letter, telling me that the
Countess had gone to bed at six, worn out with fatigue, and that,
having taken a soothing draught prepared by the chemist, she had now
fallen asleep.

"This is her letter, of which I kept a copy--for you, mademoiselle,"
said the Consul, addressing Camille, "know all the resources of art,
the tricks of style, and the efforts made in their compositions by
writers who do not lack skill; but you will acknowledge that
literature could never find such language in its assumed pathos; there
is nothing so terrible as truth. Here is the letter written by this
woman, or rather by this anguish:--

"'MONSIEUR MAURICE,--

"'I know all your uncle would say to me; he is not better informed
than my own conscience. Conscience is the interpreter of God to man. I
know that if I am not reconciled to Octave, I shall be damned; that is
the sentence of religious law. Civil law condemns me to obey, cost
what it may. If my husband does not reject me, the world will regard
me as pure, as virtuous, whatever I may have done. Yes, that much is
sublime in marriage; society ratifies the husband's forgiveness; but
it forgets that the forgiveness must be accepted. Legally,
religiously, and from the world's point of view I ought to go back to