n break in her voice, a lapse
in her continuity, which was in itself a complete drama. This subtle
modulation marked a momentous discovery--the perception of an entirely
new attitude on the part of her listener. Madame Merle had guessed in
the space of an instant that everything was at end between them, and in
the space of another instant she had guessed the reason why. The person
who stood there was not the same one she had seen hitherto, but was a
very different person--a person who knew her secret. This discovery was
tremendous, and from the moment she made it the most accomplished of
women faltered and lost her courage. But only for that moment. Then the
conscious stream of her perfect manner gathered itself again and flowed
on as smoothly as might be to the end. But it was only because she had
the end in view that she was able to proceed. She had been touched with
a point that made her quiver, and she needed all the alertness of her
will to repress her agitation. Her only safety was in her not betraying
herself. She resisted this, but the startled quality of her voice
refused to improve--she couldn't help it--while she heard herself say
she hardly knew what. The tide of her confidence ebbed, and she was able
only just to glide into port, faintly grazing the bottom.

Isabel saw it all as distinctly as if it had been reflected in a large
clear glass. It might have been a great moment for her, for it might
have been a moment of triumph. That Madame Merle had lost her pluck and
saw before her the phantom of exposure--this in itself was a revenge,
this in itself was almost the promise of a brighter day. And for a
moment during which she stood apparently looking out of the window, with
her back half-turned, Isabel enjoyed that knowledge. On the other side
of the window lay the garden of the convent; but this is not what she
saw; she saw nothing of the budding plants and the glowing afternoon.
She saw, in the crude light of that revelation which had already become
a part of experience and to which the very frailty of the vessel in
which it had been offered her only gave an intrinsic price, the dry
staring fact that she had been an applied handled hung-up tool,
as senseless and convenient as mere shaped wood and iron. All the
bitterness of this knowledge surged into her soul again; it was as if
she felt on her lips the taste of dishonour. There was a moment during
which, if she had turned and spoken, she would have said som