If Madame Claes knew the cause of this languor she endeavored not to see the extent of its ravages.  Full of courage against the sufferings of the mind, she was helpless against the generous impulses of the heart.  She dared not question Balthazar when she saw him listening to the laughter of little Jean or the chatter of his girls, with the air of a man absorbed in secret thoughts; but she shuddered when she saw him shake off his melancholy and try, with generous intent, to seem cheerful, that he might not distress others.  The little coquetries of the father with his daughters, or his games with little Jean, moistened the eyes of the poor wife, who often left the room to hide the feelings that heroic effort caused her,—­a heroism the cost of which is well understood by women, a generosity that well-nigh breaks their heart.  At such times Madame Claes longed to say, “Kill me, and do what you will!”

Little by little Balthazar’s eyes lost their fire and took the glaucous opaque tint which overspreads the eyes of old men.  His attentions to his wife, his manner of speaking, his whole bearing, grew heavy and inert.  These symptoms became more marked towards the end of April, terrifying Madame Claes, to whom the sight was now intolerable, and who had all along reproached herself a thousand times while she admired the Flemish loyalty which kept her husband faithful to his promise.

At last, one day when Balthazar seemed more depressed than ever, she hesitated no longer; she resolved to sacrifice everything and bring him back to life.

“Dear friend,” she said, “I release you from your promise.”

Balthazar looked at her in amazement.

“You are thinking of your researches, are you not?” she continued.

He answered by a gesture of startling eagerness.  Far from remonstrating, Madame Claes, who had had leisure to sound the abyss into which they were about to fall together, took his hand and pressed it, smiling.

“Thank you,” she said; “now I am sure of my power.  You sacrificed more than your life to me.  In future, be the sacrifices mine.  Though I have sold some of my diamonds, enough are left, with those my brother gave me, to get the necessary money for your experiments.  I intended those jewels for my daughters, but your glory shall sparkle in their stead; and, besides, you will some day replace them with other and finer diamonds.”

The joy that suddenly lighted her husband’s face was like a death-knell to the wife:  she saw, with anguish, that the man’s passion was stronger than himself.  Claes had faith in his work which enabled him to walk without faltering on a path which, to his wife, was the edge of a precipice.  For him faith, for her doubt,—­for her the heavier burden:  does not the woman ever suffer for the two?  At this moment she chose to believe in his success, that she might justify to herself her connivance in the probable wreck of their fortunes.