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“Yes, you are a statesman,” said Nathan. “It is as clever as it is difficult to avenge a woman without defending her.”

“The princess is one of those heroines of the legitimist party, and it is the duty of all men of honor to protect her quand meme,” replied d’Arthez, coldly. “What she has done for the cause of her masters would excuse all follies.”

“He keeps his own counsel!” said Nathan to Blondet.

“Precisely as if the princess were worth it,” said Rastignac, joining the other two.

D’Arthez went to the princess, who was awaiting him with the keenest anxiety. The result of this experiment, which Diane had herself brought about, might be fatal to her. For the first time in her life this woman suffered in her heart. She knew not what she should do in case d’Arthez believed the world which spoke the truth, instead of believing her who lied; for never had so noble a nature, so complete a man, a soul so pure, a conscience so ingenuous come beneath her hand. Though she had told him cruel lies she was driven to do so by the desire of knowing a true love. That love–she felt it dawning in her heart; yes, she loved d’Arthez; and now she was condemned forever to deceive him! She must henceforth remain to him the actress who had played that comedy to blind his eyes.

When she heard Daniel’s step in the dining-room a violent commotion, a shudder which reached to her very vitals came over her. That convulsion, never felt during all the years of her adventurous existence, told her that she had staked her happiness on this issue. Her eyes, gazing into space, took in the whole of d’Arthez’s person; their light poured through his flesh, she read his soul; suspicion had not so much as touched him with its bat’s-wing. The terrible emotion of that fear then came to its reaction; joy almost stifled her; for there is no human being who is not more able to endure grief than to bear extreme felicity.

“Daniel, they have calumniated me, and you have avenged me!” she cried, rising, and opening her arms to him.

In the profound amazement caused by these words, the roots of which were utterly unknown to him, Daniel allowed his hand to be taken between her beautiful hands, as the princess kissed him sacredly on the forehead.

“But,” he said, “how could you know–“

“Oh! illustrious ninny! do you not see that I love you fondly?”

Since that day nothing has been said of the Princess de Cadignan, nor of d’Arthez. The princess has inherited some fortune from her mother and she spends all her summers in a villa on the lake of Geneva, where the great writer joins her. She returns to Paris for a few months in winter. D’Arthez is never seen except in the Chamber. His writings are becoming exceedingly rare. Is this a conclusion? Yes, for people of sense; no, for persons who want to know everything.

THE END