Had Jacqueline, through any means, discovered a secret, which, in her hands, might be turned into a most dangerous weapon? She had a way of saying before the guilty pair: “Poor papa!” with an air of pity, as she kissed him, which made Madame de Nailles’s flesh creep, and sometimes she would amuse herself by making ambiguous remarks which shot arrows of suspicion into a heart already afraid. “I feel sure,” thought the Baroness, “that she has found out everything. But, no! it seems impossible. How can I discover what she knows?” Jacqueline’s revenge consisted in leaving her stepmother in doubt. She more than suspected, not without cause, that Fraulein Schult was false to her, and had the wit to baffle all the clever questions of her ‘promeneuse’. “My worship of a man of genius--a great artist? Oh! that has all come to an end since I have found out that his devotion belongs to an elderly lady with a fair complexion and light hair. I am only sorry for him.” Jacqueline had great hopes that these cruel words would be reported--as they were--to her stepmother, and, of course, they did not mitigate the Baroness’s uneasiness. Madame de Nailles revenged herself for this insult by dismissing the innocent echo of the impertinence--of course, under some plausible pretext. She felt it necessary also to be very cautious how she treated the enemy whom she was forced to shelter under her own roof. Her policy--a policy imposed on her by force of circumstances--was one of great indulgence and consideration, so that Jacqueline, soon feeling that she was for the present under no control, took the bit between her teeth. No other impression can adequately convey an idea of the sort of fury with which she plunged into pleasure and excitement, a state of mind which apparently, without any transition, succeeded her late melancholy. She had done with sentiment, she thought, forever. She meant to be practical and positive, a little Parisienne, and “in the swim.” There were plenty of examples among those she knew that she could follow. Berthe, Helene, and Claire Wermant were excellent leaders in that sort of thing. Those three daughters of the ‘agent de change’ were at this time at Treport, in charge of a governess, who let them do whatever they pleased, subject only to be scolded by their father, who came down every Saturday to Treport, on that train that was called the ‘train des maris’. They had made friends with two or three American girls, who were called “fast,” and Jacqueline was soon enrolled in the ranks of that gay company. The cure that was begun on the wooden horse at Blackfern’s was completed on the sea-shore.