'The first object my candle brought to light was the pale but still charming face of my beautiful country-woman.
''You, sir!' she exclaimed, scarcely able to suppress her astonishment. 'In mercy I implore you, save me from the fury of my husband.'
''Of Mr. Albert Pride?'
''No, sir, Albert is not my husband; but, listen!—do you not hear?—they are quarreling—they are struggling.'
'I listened. She was not mistaken. In spite of the two partitions which separated us from the scene of this angry interview, we distinctly heard the furious accents of passion. All at once a violent shock made the wall—thin enough, it is true—creak and rattle; then, a moment afterward, we heard the fall as of a body, accompanied with a low moan.
''Albert is dead! He has murdered him; but woe be to him. I will be revenged yet,' exclaimed my companion, her eyes glaring with unearthly fire.
'At this moment, hasty footsteps sounded in the adjoining room, which I subsequently discovered was Pride's bed-chamber.
''Sir,' said a voice choked with anger, 'you are a coward, and shall give me satisfaction for this insult.'
''You brought it on yourself, by your own obstinacy. Had you not opposed my entrance to this room, I should not have used violence toward you, at any rate. As for the satisfaction you claim, I will think about that.'
''Well, you see that your wife is not here,' replied Albert, after a short silence, during which we could hear the furniture being moved, closets opened, and the curtain-rings rattle.