One afternoon in late June, as the sun shone warmly into the large courtyard, a very elegant Victoria, drawn by two sleek black horses, stopped in front of the mansion. The Countess descended the steps just as her husband, returning home, appeared at the carriage entrance.

The Count paused, his face turning slightly pale as he observed his wife. She was strikingly beautiful, with her long oval face, an ivory-like complexion, large gray eyes, and jet-black hair. Her graceful and aristocratic demeanour only heightened her appeal. Without sparing him a glance or acknowledging his presence, she entered the carriage with a high-bred air that rekindled the burning jealousy which had long consumed him.

Approaching her, he asked in a measured tone, "You are going for a drive?"
She responded coldly, "You see I am."
"May I join you?" he ventured, attempting to mask his unease.
"The carriage belongs to you," she replied disdainfully, her tone cutting and dismissive.

Without reacting to her hostility, he climbed in and gave the order: "To the Boulogne Woods" The footman took his place beside the coachman, and the spirited horses pranced onto the street. Husband and wife sat stiffly side by side in silence, the tension between them palpable. He hesitated, seeking a way to begin a conversation, but her resolute, icy demeanour held him back.

Finally, as if by accident, his gloved hand brushed hers. She recoiled sharply, her gesture laden with unmistakable disgust. He remained thoughtful, in spite of his usual authoritative and despotic character, and finally said: "Gabrielle!"