The night of her
marriage reappeared to her in all the horror if its agony, bringing in
its train other such nights and sadder days.
"Ah! my poor Chaverny!" she cried, weeping, "you so respectful, so
gracious, YOU were always kind to me."
She turned her eyes to her husband as if to persuade herself that that
harsh face contained a promise of mercy, dearly brought. The count was
awake. His yellow eyes, clear as those of a tiger, glittered beneath
their tufted eyebrows and never had his glance been so incisive. The
countess, terrified at having encountered it, slid back under the
great counterpane and was motionless.
"Why are you weeping?" said the count, pulling away the covering which
hid his wife.
That voice, always a terror to her, had a specious softness at this
moment which seemed to her of good augury.
"I suffer much," she answered.
"Well, my pretty one, it is no crime to suffer; why did you tremble
when I looked at you? Alas! what must I do to be loved?" The wrinkles
of his forehead between the eyebrows deepened.
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