he was often seen. To prove their friendship there was the evidence first of the almost exaggerated politeness of Saint-Clair toward the Countess, and vice versa; then his habit of never pronouncing her name in public, or if obliged to speak of her, never with the slightest praise ; also, before Saint-Clair was introduced to her, he had been passionately fond of music, and the Countess equally so of painting. Since they had become acquainted their tastes had changed. Lastly, when the Countess visited a health resort the previous year, Saint-Clair followed her in less than a week.
My duty as novelist obliges me to reveal that
early one morning in the month of July, a few
moments before sunrise, the garden gate of a
country house opened, and a man crept out with
the stealthiness of a burglar fearing discovery.
This country house belonged to Madam de
Coursy, and the man was Saint-Clair. A woman muffled in a cape, came to the gate with him,
stood with her head out and watched him as long
as she could, until he was far along the path
which led by the park wall. Saint-Clair stopped,
looked round cautiously, and signed with his
hand for the woman to go in. The clearness of
