"And—my husband?"
"He has been away some days."
"Where is he?"
"At Rome. He was sent for about some important work."
"At Rome? Work? Marthe, do not lie to me. Can any new misfortune surprise me? Do not fear. I am brave. Monsieur Meyrin has gone away with that woman."
"I don't know, but I do not believe it."
"And I am sure of it. Has he left nothing for me—not a word?"
"He sent me this letter before he went."
Mme. Daubrel took from under the clock on the mantel-shelf a sealed letter and gave it to Mme. Meyrin, who tore open the envelope, devoured the contents of the inclosed letter, without a muscle of her face betraying the emotion it occasioned, and, handing it to the young woman:
"Read," she said.