Roche-Jugan, and
supplicated her to have pity on them and to retract the abominable
innuendo she had thrown out, or to explain it more fully. She made her
understand that she would inform M. de Camors of the affair in case of
need, and that he would hold his cousin Sigismund responsible. Terrified
in her turn, Madame de la Roche-Jugan judged the best method was to
destroy M. de Camors in the estimation of Madame de Tecle. She related
what had been told her by Vautrot, being careful not to compromise
herself in the recital. She informed her of the presence of M. de Camors
at the General's house the night of his death. She told her of
the reports that were circulated, and mingling calumny with truth,
redoubling at the same time her affection, her caresses, and her
tears, she succeeded in giving Madame de Tecle such an estimate of
the character of M. de Camors, that there were no suspicions or
apprehensions which the poor woman, from that moment, did not consider
legitimate as connected with him.

Madame de la Roche-Jugan finally offered to send Vautrot to her,
that she might herself interrogate him. Madame de Tecle, affecting an
incredulity and a tranquillity she did not feel, refused and withdrew.

On her returning to her daughter, she forced herself to deceive her as
to the impressions she had received, but she did not succeed; for her
anxious face belied her reassuring words. They separated the following
night, mutually concealing the trouble and distress of their souls; but
accustomed so long to think, feel, and suffer together, they met, so
to speak, in the same reflections, the same reasonings, and in the same
terrors. They went over, in their memories, all the incidents of the
life of Camors--all his faults; and, under the shadow of the monstrous
action imputed to him, his faults took a criminal character which they
were surprised they had not seen before. They discovered a series and
a sequence in his designs, all of which were imputed to him as
crimes--even his good actions. Thus his conduct during the last few
months, his strange ways, his fancy for his child and for his wife, his
assiduous tenderness toward her, were nothing more than the hypocritical
meditation of a new crime--a mask which he was preparing in advance.

What was to be done? What kind of life was it possible to live in
common, under the weight of such thoughts? What present--what future?
These thoughts bewildered them. Next day Camors could n