Charlotte gave him a very cold, dry answer.  She did not know what he meant—­he had everything belonging to his master under his own care.  What the man wanted was to speak a word to Ottilie, and on some pretence or other to get her out of the room; he made some clever excuse, and persisted in his request so far that Ottilie asked if she should go to look for the things for him?  But Charlotte quietly said that she had better not.  The valet had to depart, and the carriage rolled away.

It was a dreadful moment for Ottilie.  She understood nothing—­comprehended nothing.  She could only feel that Edward had been parted from her for a long time.  Charlotte felt for her situation, and left her to herself.

We will not attempt to describe what she went through, or how she wept.  She suffered infinitely.  She prayed that God would help her only over this one day.  The day passed, and the night, and when she came to herself again she felt herself a changed being.

She had not grown composed.  She was not resigned, but after having lost what she had lost, she was still alive, and there was still something for her to fear.  Her anxiety, after returning to consciousness, was at once lest, now that the gentlemen were gone, she might be sent away too.  She never guessed at Edward’s threats, which had secured her remaining with her aunt.  Yet Charlotte’s manner served partially to reassure her.  The latter exerted herself to find employment for the poor girl, and hardly ever,—­never, if she could help it,—­left her out of her sight; and although she knew well how little words can do against the power of passion, yet she knew, too, the sure though slow influence of thought and reflection, and therefore missed no opportunity of inducing Ottilie to talk with her on every variety of subject.

It was no little comfort to Ottilie when one day Charlotte took an opportunity of making (she did it on purpose) the wise observation, “How keenly grateful people were to us when we were able by stilling and calming them to help them out of the entanglements of passion!  Let us set cheerfully to work,” she said, “at what the men have left incomplete:  we shall be preparing the most charming surprise for them when they return to us, and our temperate proceedings will have carried through and executed what their impatient natures would have spoilt.”

“Speaking of temperance, my dear aunt, I cannot help saying how I am struck with the intemperance of men, particularly in respect of wine.  It has often pained and distressed me, when I have observed how, for hours together, clearness of understanding, judgment, considerateness, and whatever is most amiable about them, will be utterly gone, and instead of the good which they might have done if they had been themselves, most disagreeable things sometimes threaten.  How often may not wrong, rash determinations have arisen entirely from that one cause!”