ion even greater than the rest. Her woman's pride, hurt for
the first time, made her sound the depths of the unknown abyss which
separated her from the Claes of earlier days. From that time Balthazar's
condition grew rapidly worse. The man formerly so wrapped up in his
domestic happiness, who played for hours with his children on the parlor
carpet or round the garden paths, who seemed able to exist only in the
light of his Pepita's dark eyes, did not even perceive her pregnancy,
seldom shared the family life, and even forgot his own.

The longer Madame Claes postponed inquiring into the cause of his
preoccupation the less she dared to do so. At the very idea, her blood
ran cold and her voice grew faint. At last the thought occurred to
her that she had ceased to please her husband, and then indeed she was
seriously alarmed. That fear now filled her mind, drove her to despair,
then to feverish excitement, and became the text of many an hour of
melancholy reverie. She defended Balthazar at her own expense, calling
herself old and ugly; then she imagined a generous though humiliating
consideration for her in this secret occupation by which he secured
to her a negative fidelity; and she resolved to give him back his
independence by allowing one of those unspoken divorces which make the
happiness of many a marriage.

Before bidding farewell to conjugal life, Madame Claes made some attempt
to read her husband's heart, and found it closed. Little by little,
she saw him become indifferent to all that he had formerly loved; he
neglected his tulips, he cared no longer for his children. There could
be no doubt that he was given over to some passion that was not of the
heart, but which, to a woman's mind, is not less withering. His love
was dormant, not lost: this might be a consolation, but the misfortune
remained the same.

The continuance of such a state of things is explained by one
word,--hope, the secret of all conjugal situations. It so happened
that whenever the poor woman reached a depth of despair which gave her
courage to question her husband, she met with a few brief moments of
happiness when she was able to feel that if Balthazar was indeed in the
clutch of some devilish power, he was permitted, sometimes at least, to
return to himself. At such moments, when her heaven brightened, she
was too eager to enjoy its happiness to trouble him with importunate
questions: later, when she endeavored to speak to him, he would su