to her
heart. But now he became hateful; should she submit to his
interference in a matter which was life or death to her?

She did not close her eyes all night; she had one of those horrible
nights in which crimes are conceived. She did not find herself
alone with Hector until after breakfast the next day, in the
billiard-hall.

"Is it true?" she asked.

The expression of her face was so menacing that he quailed before
it. He stammered:

"True--what?"

"Your marriage."

He was silent at first, asking himself whether he should tell the
truth or equivocate. At last, irritated by Bertha's imperious tone,
he replied:

"Yes."

She was thunderstruck at this response. Till then, she had a
glimmer of hope. She thought that he would at least try to reassure
her, to deceive her. There are times when a falsehood is the highest
homage. But no--he avowed it. She was speechless; words failed her.

Tremorel began to tell her the motives which prompted his conduct.
He could not live forever at Valfeuillu. What could he, with his
habits and tastes, do with a few thousand crowns a year? He was
thirty; he must, now or never, think of the future. M. Courtois
would give his daughter a million, and at his death there would be
a great deal more. Should he let this chance slip? He cared little
for Laurence, it was the dowry he wanted. He took no pains to
conceal his meanness; he rather gloried in it, speaking of the
marriage as simply a bargain, in which he gave his name and title
in exchange for riches. Bertha stopped him with a look full of
contempt.

"Spare yourself," said she. "You love Laurence."

He would have protested; he really disliked her.

"Enough," resumed Bertha. "Another woman would have reproached you;
I simply tell you that this marriage shall not be; I do not wish it.
Believe me, give it up frankly, don't force me to act."

She retired, shutting the door violently; Hector was furious.

"How she treats me!" said he to himself. "Just as a queen would
speak to a serf. Ah, she don't want me to marry Laurence!" His
coolness returned, and with it serious reflections. If he insisted
on marrying, would not Bertha carry out her threats? Evidently;
for he knew well that she was one of those women who shrink from
nothing, whom no consideration could arrest. He guessed what she
would do, from what she had said in a quarrel with him about Jenny.
She had told him, "I will confess everything to Sauvresy, and we
will