Julien had changed neither in bearing, nor manner, nor feature, since the fatal day of Julie's disappearance. At first he had believed what Marcel said; but, as no letter arrived from his mistress, and as he knew beyond doubt, as the result of inquiries he had made secretly, that she was not in the Beauvoisis, he had gradually detected a part of the horrible truth. Julie was free, for Marcel had sworn it on his honor, again and again; but as to certain other points he did not swear. He asserted nothing; he simply left them to their presumptions. He refused with shrewd persistence to listen to any confidential communication, which made it easier for him to evade many questions. Monsieur Antoine's machiavelian plan was too eccentric to be fathomed by Julien's straightforward mind. He did not suppose that jealousy was possible without love, and he would have considered that he insulted Julie's image by admitting that the old man was in love with her. The old man was not in love, that is certain; but he was as jealous as a tiger of Julien, and jealousy without love is the most implacable form of jealousy. Julien believed that he was mad. Can anyone divine the schemes of a madman? But might not those schemes, whatever they were, affect Julie's determination? "No!" said Julien to himself, "pecuniary consideration cannot have influenced that noble heart. Julie wishes to break with me; she chooses to bring about the rupture in silence. It is painful to her, but she considers it necessary. She trembled for her reputation; the marchioness threatened to ruin her, and her friends must have succeeded in convincing her that she could never rehabilitate herself after marrying a plebeian. Such is the opinion of society. Julie fancied for a moment that she was superior to such prejudices; her love for me led her to presume too far on her strength. She has a noble nature, but her mind is a little weak perhaps, and now the force of her character is being exerted to bring about the triumph of the prejudice which kills love. Poor dear Julie! She must suffer, because she is kind-hearted--because she understands my suffering. So far as she is concerned, I feel certain that she desires to forget me." Marcel had stronger hopes of Julien's mental cure than of Julie's. He saw him as infrequently and for as short a time as possible. One day, when he was obliged to go to report to his aunt concerning a small matter which she had placed in his hands, he found her alone. "Where is Julien?" he asked; "in his studio?" "No, he is turning his attention to gardening. Since he has had this little plot of land to dig and plant, he is more easily consoled for everything. He has had a great sorrow, Marcel! a sorrow of which you know nothing. He loved Madame d'Estrelle; I was not mistaken; and, more than that----" "Yes, yes!" said Marcel, who desired to avoid any sentimental scene; "that has gone by, hasn't it? that is all over?"