de Malouet, I remained alone at the chateau the whole day and the whole evening.  I was therefore as much at peace as it was possible for me to be.  Toward midnight I heard the carriages returning, and soon after all noise ceased.  It was, I think, about three o’clock in the morning when I was aroused from the species of torpor that has stood me in lieu of sleep for the past few nights, by the sound quite close to me, of a door cautiously opened or closed in the yard.  I know not by what strange and sudden connection of ideas so simple an incident attracted my attention and disturbed my mind.  I left abruptly the arm-chair in which I had been slumbering, and I went up to a window.  I distinctly saw a man moving off with discreet steps in the direction of the avenue.  I had no difficulty in satisfying myself that the door through which he had just passed, was that which gives access to the wing of the chateau contiguous to the library.  This part of the house contains several rooms devoted to transient guests; I knew that all were vacant at this moment, unless Madame de Palme, as it often happened, had occupied for the night the lodging that was always set apart for her in that wing.

You may guess what strange thought floated across my brain.  I repelled it at first as sheer madness; but remembering, within the field of my somewhat extended experience, certain facts that lent probability to that thought, I entertained it with a sort of cynical irony, and I was almost ready to admit it, as an odious but decisive denouement.  The early dawn found me struggling still in this mental anguish, calling up my recollections, examining in a childish way the most minute circumstances that might tend to confirm or to banish my suspicions.  Excess of fatigue, brought on at last two hours of prostration, from which I emerged with a better command of my reason.  It was impossible for me to doubt the reality of the apparition that had struck my eyes during the night; but it appeared to me that I had put upon it a hasty and senseless construction, and that my ailing spirit had attributed to it the least likely explanation.

I went down at half past ten o’clock as usual.  Madame de Palme was in the parlor; she must therefore have spent the night at the chateau.  Nevertheless, a mere glance at her was enough to remove from my mind the very shadow of suspicion.  She was talking quietly in the center of a group.  She greeted me with her usual gentle smile.  I felt relieved of an immense weight.  I was escaping a torment of such a painful and bitter nature, that the positive impression of my previous grief, freed from the disgraceful complications with which I had for a moment thought it aggravated, appeared almost pleasant.  Never had my heart rendered to this woman a more tender and more sincere homage.  I was grateful to her from the bottom of my soul, for having restored purity to my wound and to my memory.