e would write to M. Courtois
that very evening declining the invitation. He kept his word, but
he was disgusted by her tyrannical behavior. He was tired of
forever sacrificing his wishes and his liberty, so that he could
plan nothing, say or promise nothing without consulting this jealous
woman, who would scarcely let him wander out of her sight. The
chain became heavier and heavier to bear, and he began to see that
sooner or later it must be wrenched apart. He had never loved
either Bertha or Jenny, or anyone, probably; but he now loved the
mayor's daughter. Her dowry of a million had at first dazzled him,
but little by little he had been subdued by Laurence's charms of
mind and person. He, the dissipated rake, was seduced by such grave
and naive innocence, such frankness and beauty; he would have
married Laurence had she been poor--as Sauvresy married Bertha.
But he feared Bertha too much to brave her suddenly, and so he
waited. The next day after the quarrel about Fontainebleau, he
declared that he was indisposed, attributed it to the want of
exercise, and took to the saddle for several hours every day
afterward. But he did not go far; only to the mayor's. Bertha at
first did not perceive anything suspicious in Tremorel's rides; it
reassured her to see him go off on his horse. After some days,
however, she thought she saw in him a certain feeling of satisfaction
concealed under the semblance of fatigue. She began to have doubts,
and these increased every time he went out; all sorts of conjectures
worried her while he was away. Where did he go? Probably to see
Laurence, whom she feared and detested. The suspicion soon became
a certainty with her. One evening Hector appeared, carrying in his
button-hole a flower which Laurence herself had put there, and which
he had forgotten to take out. Bertha took it gently, examined it,
smelt it, and, compelling herself to smile:

"Why," said she, "what a pretty flower!"

"So I thought," answered Hector, carelessly, "though I don't know
what it is called."

"Would it be bold to ask who gave it to you?"

"Not at all. It's a present from our good Plantat."

All Orcival knew that M. Plantat, a monomaniac on flowers, never
gave them away to anyone except Mme. Laurence. Hector's evasion
was an unhappy one, and Bertha was not deceived.

"You promised me, Hector," said she, "not to see Laurence any more,
and to give up this marriage."

He tried to reply.

"Let me speak," she c