Octave had evidently been reproaching him for some low intrigue he had been engaged in, and was reflecting upon the character of the woman.

'At any rate,' cried Montlouis, 'she is quite as virtuous as Madame de Mussidan was before her marriage.'" "'As Octave heard these words, he raised the loaded gun he held in his hand and fired.

Montlouis fell to the ground, bathed in blood.

We all ran up to him, but he was quite dead, for the charge of shot had penetrated his heart.

I was almost beside myself, but Octave's despair was terrible to witness.