ich she had
heard spoken of as a very dangerous book, not doubting it would throw
some light on the subject that absorbed her. But she shut up the volume
in a rage when she found that it had nothing but excuses to offer for
the fall of a married woman. After that, and guided only by chance, she
read a number of other novels, most of which were of antediluvian date,
thus accounting, she supposed, for their sentiments, which she found old
fashioned. We should be wrong, however, if we supposed that Jacqueline's
crude judgment of these books had nothing in common with true criticism.
Her only object, however, in reading all this sentimental prose was to
discover, as formerly she had found in poetry, something that applied to
her own case; but she soon discovered that all the sentimental heroines
in the so-called bad books were persons who had had bad husbands;
besides, they were either widows or old women--at least thirty years
old! It was astounding! There was nothing--absolutely nothing--about
young girls, except instances in which they renounced their hopes of
happiness. What an injustice! Among these victims the two that most
attracted her sympathy were Madame de Camors and Renee Mauperin. But
what horrors surrounded them! What a varied assortment of deceptions,
treacheries, and mysteries, lay hidden under the outward decency and
respectability of what men called "the world!" Her young head became a
stage on which strange plays were acted. What one reads is good or bad
for us, according to the frame of mind in which we read it--according
as we discover in a volume healing for the sickness of our souls--or the
contrary. In view of the circumstances in which she found herself, what
Jacqueline absorbed from these books was poison.

When, after the physical and moral crisis through which she had passed,
Jacqueline resumed the life of every day, she had in her sad eyes,
around which for some time past had been dark circles, an expression of
anxiety such as the first contact with a knowledge of evil might have
put into Eve's eyes after she had plucked the apple. Her investigations
had very imperfectly enlightened her. She was as much perplexed as ever,
with some false ideas besides. When she was well again, however, she
continued weak and languid; she felt somehow as if, she had come back to
her old surroundings from some place far away. Everything about her now
seemed sad and unfamiliar, though outwardly nothing was altered.