Meantime M. de Nailles, almost beside himself, fancied at first that his wife was going mad, but in the midst of her sobs and reproaches he managed to discover that he had somehow done her wrong, and when, with a broken voice, she cried, “You no longer love me!” he did not know what to do to prove how bitterly he repented having grieved her.  He stammered, he made excuses, he owned that he had been to blame, that he had been very stupid, and he begged her pardon.  As to the portrait, it should be taken from the salon, where, if seen, it might become a pretext for foolish compliments to Jacqueline.  Why not send it at once to Grandchaux?  In short, he would do anything she wished, provided she would leave off crying.

But Madame de Nailles continued to weep.  Her husband was forced at last to leave her and to return to Jacqueline, who stood petrified in the salon.

“Yes,” he said, “your mamma is right.  We have made a deplorable mistake in what we have done.  Besides, you must know that this unlucky picture is not in the least like you.  Marien has made some use of your features to paint a fancy portrait—­so we will let nobody see it.  They might laugh at you.”

In this way he hoped to repair the evil he had done in flattering his daughter’s vanity, and promoting that dangerous spirit of independence, denounced to him a few minutes before, but of which, up to that time, he had never heard.

Jacqueline, in her turn, began to sob.

Mademoiselle Schult had cause, too, to wipe her eyes, pretending a more or less sincere repentance for her share in the deception.  Vigorously cross-questioned by Madame de Nailles, who called upon her to tell all she knew, under pain of being dismissed immediately, she saw but one way of retaining her situation, which was to deliver up Jacqueline, bound hand and foot, to the anger of her stepmother, by telling all she knew of the childish romance of which she had been the confidante.  As a reward she was permitted (as she had foreseen) to retain her place in the character of a spy.

It was a sad Ste.-Clotilde’s day that year.  Marien, who came in the evening, heard with surprise that the Baroness was indisposed and could see no one.  For twelve days after this he continued in disgrace, being refused admittance when he called.  Those twelve days were days of anguish for Jacqueline.  To see Marien no longer, to be treated with coldness by her father, to see in the blue eyes of her stepmother—­eyes so soft and tender when they looked upon her hitherto—­only a harsh, mistrustful glare, almost a look of hatred, was a punishment greater than she could bear.  What had she done to deserve punishment?  Of what was she accused?  She spoke of her wretchedness to Fraulein Schult, who, perfidiously, day after day, drew from her something to report to Madame de Nailles.  That lady was somewhat consoled, while suffering tortures of jealousy, to know that the girl to whom these sufferings were due was paying dearly for her fault and was very unhappy.