Catherine stood silent and immovable. Never had she dreamed of this. Not only had he insulted her, but the blow had given her pain; but the latter was as nothing compared to the fury which took possession of her brain. Springing to her feet, she made one bound for his throat, and a pitiful struggle ensued. Catherine was naturally the first to yield, and she cried for help. Her cries brought Barrau partially to his senses. He stopped and stepped back, leaving his wife leaning against the buffet, panting for breath. A moment’s silence intervened, and then seizing her arm he exclaimed: “You are lost, do you know it? And as for that villain Bruno--I will kill him! Do you understand?” “Oh, it is Bruno, then, that you want to kill? Well, he is no coward.” “Shameless woman!” “Cruel monster!” After uttering these words Catherine, with the manner of a maniac, rushed up the staircase and locked herself in her room, resolved to wait until the morrow before breaking with the man from whom there was now nothing to hope. “He does not dare to come here,” she mentally exclaimed as she crossed the apartment. Left to himself, Barrau speedily repented of his infamous conduct. To assault a woman, be she ever so culpable, is a dishonorable, shameful proceeding, and to think that he, a soldier and gentleman, had been guilty of such a thing. He was mortified and penitent. But when he thought of Bruno and Firmin his heart seemed bursting with indignation. He foresaw greater trouble and despair claimed him as her own. “If I could die,” he whispered to himself, “all would be settled. But no. That is a cowardly thought. However, this state of affairs must end. To-morrow she will probably go away. If she doesn’t I shall return to my old lodgings in the barracks.” The night passed and neither slept. A prey to melancholy thoughts and schemes of vengeance, each paced the floor through the long watches of darkness, lonely and wretched. At about nine o’clock on the following morning Catherine descended the stairs and passed the exhausted Savin, who was asleep in a chair. With nervous step she left the house and started toward the village. At the pond where Rosalie and others were engaged in washing clothes, tongues were wagging industriously. The latest gossip was in everybody’s mouth. For the moment Firmin was the subject of conversation. He had just passed by and they had persuaded him to tell his grievance. When Catherine crossed the little bridge under which the women were at work, all tongues ceased. Andoche alone saluted her with a sarcastic “Good-morning,” adding, “and did you pass a pleasant night?” Catherine hastened on without replying. The village, the meadows, the forest, the people, all seemed hateful to her. To leave the country was all that she now desired. But she wished to be free to go where she liked and to do as she pleased, to which end she was going to consult with Monsieur Eugène.