e had been seen
dancing at the fetes, dressed in one of "the good young lady's" gowns.
And one day, as she was taking to the grandmother some chemises promised
her the previous evening, she saw from a distance, in the midst of the
poor family, Madame de Voincourt and her daughter Claire, accompanied by
Felicien. The latter, no doubt, had taken them there. She did not show
herself, but returned home at once, chilled to the heart. Two days
later she saw the two again as they came out from the Chateau; then one
morning the old man Mascart told her of a visit he had received from
the handsome young gentleman and two ladies. Then she abandoned her poor
people, who seemed no longer to have claims upon her, since Felicien had
taken them and given them to his new friends. She gave up her walks
for fear she might see them, and thus be so deeply wounded that her
sufferings would be increased tenfold. She felt as if something were
dying within her, as if, little by little, her very life was passing
away.

One evening, after one of these meetings, when alone in her chamber,
stifling from anguish, she uttered this cry:

"But he loves me no longer."

She saw before her, mentally, Claire de Voincourt, tall, beautiful,
with her crown of black hair, and he was at her side, slight, proud, and
handsome. Were they not really created for each other, of the same race,
so well mated that one might think they were already married?

"He no longer loves me! Oh! he no longer loves me!"

This exclamation broke from her lips as if it were the ruin of all her
hopes, and, her faith once shaken, everything gave way without her being
able to examine the facts of the case or to regard them calmly. The
previous evening she believed in something, but that had now passed by.
A breath, coming from she knew not where, had been sufficient, and all
at once by a single blow she had fallen into the greatest despair--that
of thinking she was not beloved. He had indeed spoken wisely when he
told her once that this was the only real grief, the one insupportable
torture. Now her turn had come. Until then she had been resigned,
she felt so strong and confident as she awaited the miracle. But her
strength passed away with her faith; she was tormented by her distress
like a child; her whole being seemed to be only an open wound. And a
painful struggle commenced in her soul.

At first she called upon her pride to help her; she was too proud to
care for him any mo