The first hours of their mutual understanding were spent in angry words, rather than the cooings of love.  They perceived too clearly the disgrace of their conduct not to try to reassure each other against their remorse.  They tried to prove to each other that Sauvresy was ridiculous and odious; as if they were absolved by his deficiencies, if deficiencies he had.  If indeed trustfulness is foolishness, Sauvresy was indeed a fool, because he could be deceived under his own eyes, in his own house, because he had perfect faith in his wife and his friend.  He suspected nothing, and every day he rejoiced that he had been able to keep Tremorel by him.  He often repeated to his wife: 

“I am too happy.”

Bertha employed all her art to encourage these joyous illusions.  She who had before been so capricious, so nervous, wilful, became little by little submissive to the degree of an angelic softness.  The future of her love depended on her husband, and she spared no pains to prevent the slightest suspicion from ruffling his calm confidence.  Such was their prudence that no one in the house suspected their state.  And yet Bertha was not happy.  Her love did not yield her the joys she had expected.  She hoped to be transported to the clouds, and she remained on the earth, hampered by all the miserable ties of a life of lies and deceit.

Perhaps she perceived that she was Hector’s revenge on her husband, and that he only loved in her the dishonored wife of an envied friend.  And to crown all, she was jealous.  For several months she tried to persuade Tremorel to break with Jenny.  He always had the same reply, which, though it might be prudent, was irritating.

“Jenny is our security—­you must think of that.”

The fact was, however, that he was trying to devise some means of getting rid of Jenny.  It was a difficult matter.  The poor girl, having fallen into comparative poverty, became more and more tenacious of Hector’s affection.  She often gave him trouble by telling him that he was no longer the same, that he was changed; she was sad, and wept, and had red eyes.

One evening, in a fit of anger, she menaced him with a singular threat.

“You love another,” she said.  “I know it, for I have proofs of it.  Take care!  If you ever leave me, my anger will fall on her head, and I will not have any mercy on her.”

The count foolishly attached no importance to these words; they only hastened the separation.

“She is getting very troublesome,” thought he.  “If some day I shouldn’t go when she was expecting me, she might come up to Valfeuillu, and make a wretched scandal.”

He armed himself with all his courage, which was assisted by Bertha’s tears and entreaties, and started for Corbeil resolved to break off with Jenny.  He took every precaution in declaring his intentions, giving the best reasons for his decision that he could think of.