ssumed a
different significance. Often when she was alone she would abandon
herself to a fancied image of that hour: how she had gone forward to
meet the singular being, and by skilfully planned questions beguiled
answer upon answer from his stubborn lips, and how, unable to disguise
his feelings any longer, he had spontaneously opened his heart to her.
And one night he came riding on a wild steed, forced his way into the
castle, took her and rode away with her so swiftly that it seemed as if
the storm was his servant, and lent wings to his steed. When the talk
at table or in company turned upon Bastide Grammont and his murderous
crime, of which no one stood in doubt, Clarissa never occupied herself
with the enormity of the deed, which must forever separate such a man
from the fellowship of the good. Enveloped in a voluptuous mist, she
was sensible of the influence of his compelling force, of the heroic
soul that spoke in his gestures, of the reality of his existence and
the possibility of a close approach to the figure which persisted in
haunting her troubled dreams. She was frightened at herself; she gazed
into the dreaded depths of her soul, and she often felt as if she
herself were lying in prison and Bastide were walking back and forth
outside, planning means for forcing the door, while his swift steed was
neighing in triumph.

Now she was entangled in all the talk, whisperings, and tales, and the
whole mass of abominations, too, in which design and arbitrariness were
hopelessly mingled, passed, steadily growing, before her. The thing had
an increasingly strange effect upon her, and she felt as if she were
breathing poisoned air; she would walk through one of the streets of
Rodez and fancy that all eyes were fastened upon her in accusation, so
that she hastened her steps, hurried home, pale and confused, and gazed
at herself in the mirror with faltering pulse.

She had recently been entertained at the estate of a family on terms of
friendship with her father. One day the master of the house, a scholar,
was thrown into great agitation over the loss of a valuable manuscript.
The servants were ordered to ransack every room, but no one was
suspected of theft. Clarissa fell by and by into a painful state; she
imagined that she was suspected; in every word she felt a sting, in
every look a question; she took part in the search with anxious zeal,
fevered visions of prison and disgrace already floated before her, she
lon