What she did not know was that his depression had more than one cause.  He felt—­and felt with shame and with discouragement—­that the fetters of a connection which had long since ceased to charm had been fastened on his wrists tighter than ever; and he thought:  “I shall lose all my energy, I shall lose even my talent!  While I wear these chains I shall see ever before me—­ah! tortures of Tantalus!—­the vision of a new love, fresh as the dawn which beckons to me as it passes before my sight, which lays on me the light touch of a caress, while I am forced to see it glide away, to let it vanish, disappear forever!  And alas! that is not all.  If I have deceived an inexperienced heart by words spoken or deeds done in a moment of weakness or temptation, can I flatter myself that I have acted like an honest man?”

This is what Marien was really thinking, while Jacqueline looked at him with an expression she strove to make indifferent, but which he interpreted, though she knew it not:  “You have done me all the harm you can.”

M. de Nailles meantime went on talking, with little response from his wife or his guest, about some vehement discussion of a new law going on just then in the Chamber, and he became so interested in his own discourse that he did not remark the constraint of the others.

Marien at last, tired of responding in monosyllables to his remarks, said abruptly, a short time before dessert was placed upon the table, something about the probability of his soon going to Italy.

“A pilgrimage of art to Florence!” cried the Baron, turning at once from politics.  “That’s good.  But wait a little—­let it be after the rising of the Chamber.  We will follow your steps.  It has been the desire of my wife’s life—­a little jaunt to Italy.  Has it not, Clotilde?  So we will all go in September or October.  What say you?”

“In September or October, whichever suits you,” said Marien, with despair.

Not one month of liberty!  Why couldn’t they leave him to his Savanarola!  Must he drag about a ball and chain like a galley-slave?

Clotilde rewarded M. de Nailles with a smile—­the first smile she had given him since their quarrel about Jacqueline.

“My wife has got over her displeasure,” he said to himself, delightedly.

Jacqueline, on her part, well remembered the day when Hubert had spoken to her for the first time of his intended journey, and how he had added, in a tone which she now knew to be badinage, but which then, alas! she had believed serious:  “Suppose we go together!”

And her impulse to shed tears became so great, that when they left the dinner-table she escaped to her own room, under pretence of a headache.

“Yes—­you are looking wretchedly,” said her stepmother.  And, turning to M. de Nailles, she added:  “Don’t you think, ‘mon ami’, she is as yellow as a quince!” Marien dared not press the hand which she, who had been his little friend for years, offered him as usual, but this time with repugnance.