"She inquired what I meant by these words, and then recovering myself, instead of explaining, I but reiterated more passionate protestations. Alas! very soon the slight affection I had obtained by so many cares, with so much trouble, gave way to a fresh coldness. She sometimes looked at me with an unquiet, frightened air—her fits of melancholy increased, and then the suspicions I had at first so energetically repulsed returned to my mind; then I drove them away again. Sometimes in spite of myself, I examined distrustfully the meat that was placed before me, and then, blushing with fear at this fresh insult to Paula, I left the table suddenly.
"In this trying and painful struggle my health became weaker, my temper soured, whilst Paula became more and more reserved towards me."
"Oh! what a life! what a life!" exclaimed Bertha, as she wiped away her tears.
"Alas!" said M. de Hansfeld, "that was nothing. We quitted Trieste at the end of autumn; my wife wished to pass the winter at Geneva, and then come to France. Surprised by a violent storm, we stopped a few leagues from Trieste in a wretched road-side inn at nightfall. The tempest redoubled its fury, and a torrent we had to cross had overflowed its banks; we were therefore compelled to pass the night at this auberge. The place was lonely, and the master of the hovel was an ill-looking fellow. I proposed to my wife that we should watch as late as possible and then sleep in a chair, that we might set out again before daybreak, as soon as the road was practicable. Our suite consisted of my two servants and the young girl who accompanied Paula. I had always been exceedingly kind to this girl, because I knew that it would please my wife; besides Iris (that was the Bohemian girl's name) was almost as much devoted to me as to her mistress. We occupied on that fatal night—ah! how fatal!—a small apartment, of which the only door opened into a closet in which was Frantz, my old servant. Paula could not conceal her fears; the wind seemed to shake the house to its very foundations, and we both watched very late. Alone in this chamber, I seated myself on a miserable truckle-bed, whilst my wife reposed in an arm-chair. Sleep overpowered me in spite of all my efforts.
"I am ignorant how long I slept, when I was suddenly awakened by a sharp pain inside my left arm. The room was completely dark. My first impulse was to seize the hand I felt pressing upon me—this thin and delicate hand grasped a sharp-pointed stiletto."
"Heavens!" exclaimed Bertha, alarmed and clasping her hands.
"What! another attempt? that is, indeed, frightful!" said Pierre Raimond.
Arnold continued,—
"Thanks to the darkness, they had thrust the stiletto between my body and my left arm, which was closely pressed against my side. Owing to the slight resistance which the blade of the dagger met in passing through this narrow space, it might be supposed that it had penetrated my breast. It was this mistake that saved me, and I escaped with only a slight wound in my arm!"
"How fortunate!" said Bertha,