d her, even
more than the paltry shifts and expedients to which at other
times they had to resort, when he had spent all his money, and
there was no more forthcoming for the moment; she wept when
her children were born, thinking of the iniquity of the world
they had entered; and when her two little boys died one after
the other, there was almost a sense of relief mixed with the
bitterness of her sorrow, as she reflected on the father she
could not have taught them to respect, and on the abject evil
and misery from which she could not have shielded them.

As for M. Linders, he at once adored and neglected his wife,
as was the nature of the man; that is, he adored her
theoretically for her rare beauty, but neglected her
practically, when, after a few months of married life, he saw
her bloom fading, and her animation vanish, in the utter
despondency which had seized her, and which found its outward
expression in a certain studied composure and coldness of
manner. There soon came a time when he would have willingly
freed himself altogether from the constraint of her presence.
He travelled almost incessantly, spending the summer and
autumn at the German watering-places; the winter in France, or
Belgium, or Italy; and he would sometimes propose that she
should remain at a Paris hotel till he could return to her. In
the first years after their marriage she objected vehemently.
She was so young, so unused to solitude, that she felt a
certain terror at the prospect of being left alone; and,
moreover, she still clung with a sort of desperation to her
girlish illusions, and, loving her husband, could not cease to
believe in his love for her. She had plans, too, for reforming
him, and for a long time would not allow herself to be
convinced of their utter vanity and hopelessness. After the
death of her little boys, however, she became more
indifferent, or more resigned. And so it came to pass that
when she had been married about six years, and four months
after her third child was born, Madame Linders died, alone at
a Paris hotel, with no one near her but the doctor, her baby's
nurse, and the woman of the house. She had dictated a few
words to tell her husband, who was then in Germany, that she
was dying; and, stricken with a horrible remorse, he had
travelled with all possible haste to Paris, and arrived at
daybreak one morning to find that his wife had died the
evening before.

Madame Linders' death had been caused by a fev