"'My dear Octave, if you should succeed in bringing the Countess back
to her duty, I have studied her well'--(he looked at me as Othello
must have looked at Iago when Iago first contrived to insinuate a
suspicion into the Moor's mind)--'she must never see me again; she
must never know that Maurice was your secretary. Never mention my name
to her, or all will be undone. . . . You have got me an appointment as
Maitre des Requetes--well, get me instead some diplomatic post abroad,
a consulship, and do not think of my marrying Amelie.--Oh! do not be
uneasy,' I added, seeing him draw himself up, 'I will play my part to
the end.'

"'Poor boy!' said he, taking my hand, which he pressed, while he kept
back the tears that were starting to his eyes.

"'You gave me the gloves,' I said, laughing, 'but I have not put them
on; that is all.'

"We then agreed as to what I was to do that evening at Honorine's
house, whither I presently returned. It was now August; the day had
been hot and stormy, but the storm hung overhead, the sky was like
copper; the scent of the flowers was heavy, I felt as if I were in an
oven, and caught myself wishing that the Countess might have set out
for the Indies; but she was sitting on a wooden bench shaped like a
sofa, under an arbor, in a loose dress of white muslin fastened with
blue bows, her hair unadorned in waving bands over her cheeks, her
feet on a small wooden stool, and showing a little way beyond her
skirt. She did not rise; she showed me with her hand to the seat by
her side, saying: