what anguish it was when she suddenly began to stifle, all alone
in the empty house, without son or husband near her! She called nobody
since she knew that nobody would come. And the attack over, with what
unconquerable obstinacy did she rise erect again, repeating that her
presence sufficed to prevent Denis from being the master, from reigning
alone in full sovereignty, and that in any case he would not have the
house and install himself in it like a conqueror, so long as she had not
sunk to death under the final collapse of the ceilings.

Amid this retired life, Constance, haunted as she was by her fixed
idea, had no other occupation than that of watching the factory, and
ascertaining what went on there day by day. Morange, whom she had made
her confidant, gave her information in all simplicity almost every
evening, when he came to speak to her for a moment after leaving his
office. She learnt everything from his lips--the successive sales of
the shares into which the property had been divided, their gradual
acquisition by Denis, and the fact that Beauchene and herself were
henceforth living on the new master's liberality. Moreover, she so
organized her system of espionage as to make the old accountant tell her
unwittingly all that he knew of the private life led by Denis, his wife
Marthe, and their children, Lucien, Paul, and Hortense all, indeed, that
was done and said in the modest little pavilion where the young people,
in spite of their increasing fortune, were still residing, evincing no
ambitious haste to occupy the large house on the quay. They did not
even seem to notice what scanty accommodation they had in that pavilion,
while she alone dwelt in the gloomy mansion, which was so spacious
that she seemed quite lost in it. And she was enraged, too, by their
deference, by the tranquil way in which they waited for her to be no
more; for she had been unable to make them quarrel with her, and was
obliged to show herself grateful for the means they gave her, and to
kiss their children, whom she hated, when they brought her flowers.

Thus, months and years went by, and almost every evening when Morange
for a moment called on Constance, he found her in the same little silent
salon, gowned in the same black dress, and stiffened into a posture of
obstinate expectancy. Though no sign was given of destiny's revenge, of
the patiently hoped-for fall of misfortune upon others, she never seemed
to doubt of her ultimate victo