thoughts, and how cold his heart. She had long since found out that the
brilliant man of the world, whom everybody considered so clever, was
in reality an absolute nullity, incapable of any thought that was not
suggested to him by others, and at the same time full of overweening
self-esteem, and absurdly obstinate.

The worst, however, was, that the count was very near hating his wife.
He had heard so many people say that she was not his equal, that he
finally believed it himself. Besides, he blamed her for the prestige
which he had lost.

An ordinary woman would have shrunk from the difficult task which
Pauline had assumed, and would have thought that nothing more could be
expected of her than to keep sacred her marriage-vows. But the countess
was not an ordinary woman. Full of resignation, she meant to do more
than her duty.

Fortunately, a cradle standing by her bedside made the task somewhat
easier. She had a daughter, her Henrietta; and upon that darling curly
head she built a thousand castles in the air. From that moment she
roused herself from the languor to which she had given way for nearly
two years, and set to work to study the count with that amazing sagacity
which a high stake is apt to give.

A remark accidentally made by her husband cast a new light upon her
fate. One morning, when they had finished breakfast, he said,--

"Ah! Nancy was very fond of you. The day before she died, when she knew
she was going, she made me promise her to marry you."