“Enough,” resumed Bertha.  “Another woman would have reproached you; I simply tell you that this marriage shall not be; I do not wish it.  Believe me, give it up frankly, don’t force me to act.”

She retired, shutting the door violently; Hector was furious.

“How she treats me!” said he to himself.  “Just as a queen would speak to a serf.  Ah, she don’t want me to marry Laurence!” His coolness returned, and with it serious reflections.  If he insisted on marrying, would not Bertha carry out her threats?  Evidently; for he knew well that she was one of those women who shrink from nothing, whom no consideration could arrest.  He guessed what she would do, from what she had said in a quarrel with him about Jenny.  She had told him, “I will confess everything to Sauvresy, and we will be the more bound together by shame than by all the ceremonies of the church.”

This was surely the mode she would adopt to break a marriage which was so hateful to her; and Tremorel trembled at the idea of Sauvresy knowing all.

“What would he do,” thought he, “if Bertha told him?  He would kill me off-hand—­that’s what I would do in his place.  Suppose he didn’t; I should have to fight a duel with him, and if I killed him, quit the country.  Whatever would happen, my marriage is irrevocably broken, and Bertha seems to be on my hands for all time.”

He saw no possible way out of the horrible situation in which he had put himself.

“I must wait,” thought he.

And he waited, going secretly to the mayor’s, for he really loved Laurence.  He waited, devoured by anxiety, struggling between Sauvresy’s urgency and Bertha’s threats.  How he detested this woman who held him, whose will weighed so heavily on him!  Nothing could curb her ferocious obstinacy.  She had one fixed idea.  He had thought to conciliate her by dismissing Jenny.  It was a mistake.  When he said to her: 

“Bertha, I shall never see Jenny again.”

She answered, ironically: 

“Mademoiselle Courtois will be very grateful to you!”

That evening, while Sauvresy Was crossing the court-yard, he saw a beggar at the gate, making signs to him.

“What do you want, my good man?”

The beggar looked around to see that no one was listening.

“I have brought you a note,” said he, rapidly, and in a low tone.  “I was told to give it, only to you, and to ask you to read it when you are alone.”

He mysteriously slipped a note, carefully sealed, into Sauvresy’s hand.

“It comes from pretty girl,” added he, winking.

Sauvresy, turning his back to the house, opened it and read: 

  “Sir—­You will do a great favor to a poor and unhappy girl, if
  you will come to-morrow to the Belle Image, at Corbeil, where
  you will be awaited all day.

  “Your humble servant,
  “Jenny F—–.”