For several days, Gerfaut followed, with unrelenting perseverance, the plan which he had mapped out in that eventful night.  The most exacting woman could but appear satisfied with the politeness he displayed toward Madame de Bergenheim, but nothing in his conduct showed the slightest desire for an explanation.  He was so careful of every look, gesture, and word of his, that it would have been impossible to discover the slightest difference in his actions toward Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, and the manner in which he treated Clemence.  His choicest attentions and most particular efforts at amiability were bestowed upon Aline.  He used as much caution as cunning, in his little game, for he knew that in spite of her inclination to be jealous, Madame de Bergenheim would never believe in a sudden desertion, and that she would surely discover the object of his ruse, if he made the mistake of exaggerating it in the least.

While renouncing the idea of a direct attack, he did not work with any less care to fortify his position.  He redoubled his activity in widening the breach between the old aunt and the husband, following the principles of military art, that one should become master of the exterior works of a stronghold before seriously attacking its ramparts.

It was, in a way, by reflection that Octave’s passion reached Clemence.  Every few moments she learned some detail of this indirect attack, to which it was impossible for her to raise any objections.

“Monsieur de Gerfaut has promised to spend a fortnight longer with us,” said her aunt to her, in a jeering tone.

“Really, Gerfaut is very obliging,” said her husband, in his turn; “he thinks it very strange that we have not had a genealogical tree made to put in the drawing-room.  He pretends that it is an indispensable complement to my collection of family portraits, and he offers to do me the favor of assuming charge of it.  It seems, from what your aunt tells me, that he is very learned in heraldry.  Would you believe it, he spent the whole morning in the library looking over files of old manuscripts?  I am delighted, for this will prolong his stay here.  He is a very charming fellow; a Liberal in politics, but a gentleman at heart.  Marillac, who is a superb penman, undertakes to make a fair copy of the genealogy and to illuminate the crests.  Do you know, we can not find my great-grandmother Cantelescar’s coat-of-arms?  But, my darling, it seems to me that you are not very kindly disposed toward your cousin Gerfaut.”

Madame de Bergenheim, when these remarks and various others of a similar nature came up, tried to change the conversation, but she felt an antipathy for her husband bordering upon aversion.  For lack of intelligence is one of the faults women can pardon the least; they look upon a confidence which is lulled into security by faith in their honor, and a blindness which does not suspect the possibility of a fall, as positive crimes.