They only wasted Angelika’s time.  They were in her way now more than ever; for it may be said at once that, Rafael had become everything to her.  This was the fascination in her, and whatever happened, it never lost its power.  Her tenderness, her devotion, were boundless.  By the aid of her personal charm, her resourceful ingenuity, she obtained every advantage for him within her range, and even beyond it.  It was felt in her devotion by night and day, when anything was to be done, in an untiring zeal such as only so strong and healthy a woman could have had in her power to render.  But in words it did not show itself, hardly even in looks:  except, perhaps, while she fought to win him, but never since then.

Had she been able to adhere to one line of conduct, if only for a few weeks at a time, and let herself be guided by her never-failing love, he would, in this stimulating atmosphere, have made of his married life what his mother, in spite of all, had made of hers.

Why did not this happen?  Because the jealousy which she had aroused in him and which had drawn him to her again was now reversed.

They were hardly married before it was she who was jealous!  Was it strange?  A middle-aged woman, even though she be endowed with the strongest personality and the widest sympathy, when she wins a young husband who is the fashion—­wins him as Angelika won hers—­ begins to live in perpetual disquietude lest any one should take him from her.  Had she not taken him herself?

If we were to say that she was jealous of every human being who came there, man or woman, old or young, beside those whom he met elsewhere, it would be an exaggeration, but this exaggeration throws a strong light upon the state of things, which actually existed.

If he became at all interested in conversation with any one, she always interrupted.  Her face grew hard, her right foot began to move; and if this did not suffice, she struck in with sulky or provoking remarks, no matter who was there.

If something were said in praise of any one, and it seemed to excite his interest, she would pooh-pooh it, literally with a “pooh!” a shrug of the shoulders, a toss of the head, or an impatient tap of the foot.

At first he imagined that she really knew something disadvantageous about all those whom she thus disparaged, and he was filled with admiration at her acquaintance with half Norway.  He believed in her veracity as he believed in few things.  He believed, too, that it was unbounded like so many of her qualities.  She said the most cynical things in the plainest manner without apparent design.

But little by little it dawned upon him that she said precisely what it pleased her to say, according to the humour that she was in.

One day, as they were going to table—­he had come in late and was hungry—­he was delighted to see that there were oysters.

“Oysters! at this time of the year,” he cried.  “They must be very expensive.”