But, soon, a
brooding jealousy, slowly gathering strength, took possession of the
mulattress. She took offence at the fraternal affection which seemed to
be taking her husband from her arms. She suffered because of the
communion of speech and thought and reminiscences between them; she
suffered because of the conversations in which she could take no part,
because of what she heard in their voices, but could not understand. The
consciousness of her inferiority kindled in her heart the fires of wrath
and hatred that burn fiercely in the tropics. She had recourse to her
children for her revenge; she urged them on, excited them, aroused their
evil passions against her sister-in-law. She encouraged them to laugh at
her, to make sport of her. She applauded the manifestations of the
mischievous intelligence characteristic of children, in whom observation
begins with naughtiness. Once she had let them loose upon their aunt,
she allowed them to laugh at all her absurdities, her figure, her nose,
her dresses, whose meanness, nevertheless, provided their own elegant
attire. Thus incited and upheld, the little ones soon arrived at
insolence. Mademoiselle de Varandeuil had the quick temper that
accompanies kindness of heart. With her the hand, as well as the heart,
had a part in the first impulse. And then she shared the prevalent
opinion of her time as to the proper way of bringing up children. She
endured two or three impertinent sallies without a word; but at the
fourth she seized the mocking child, took down her skirts, and
administered to her, notwithstanding her twelve years, the soundest
whipping she had ever received. The mulattress made a great outcry and
told her sister-in-law, that she had always detested her children and
that she wanted to kill them. The brother interposed between the two
women and succeeded in reconciling them after a fashion. But new scenes
took place, when the little ones, inflamed against the woman who made
their mother weep, assailed their aunt with the refined tortures of
misbehaved children, mingled with the fiendish cruelty of little
savages. After several patched-up truces it became necessary to part.
Mademoiselle de Varandeuil decided to leave her brother, for she saw how
unhappy he was amid this daily wrenching of his dearest affections. She
left him to his wife and his children. This separation was one of the
great sorrows of her life. She who was so strong against emotion and so
self-contain