I rushed to my study. There was the letter. What could she have to write to me? I broke the seal and looked for the marks of tears upon it, but there were none. She had left me, left me forever, without even shedding a tear! My heart sickened. Ah! if heaven were just, I thought, the day would come when I should make her shed as bitter tears as I had shed. I read the letter. “Monsieur, I have deceived you. I might perhaps deny it still, but I prefer to be more honest than you were with me. I am guilty, I know it; but except for your example, I never should have been. And, although in the eyes of the law, I am a greater culprit than you, I do not consider myself so. I realize that we can no longer live together. Indeed, I think that it will be a blessing to us both to part. I shall keep my daughter, and you your son. My fortune will suffice for me, and I shall never need to have recourse to yours. Adieu, monsieur, pray believe that I sincerely wish you happiness. “EUGÉNIE.” What a letter! not a word of regret, not a syllable of repentance! Well, so much the better; that gave me courage. But my daughter, my Henriette; so I must live without seeing and embracing her every day! What inhumanity! Eugénie knew how dearly I loved my daughter, and she had taken her away. It was not from maternal affection; no, she did not know what it was to love her children. So that it was simply to make me more unhappy. Henriette, dear child, you would no longer come and climb on my knees every morning; I could no longer pass my hand through your fair hair and hold your head against my breast; and, ceasing to see me, perhaps you will cease to love me. I threw myself into a chair, and laid my head on my desk; I do not know how long I stayed in that position. I heard the maid; the poor girl was standing behind my chair and had been talking to me for a long time, for all that I knew. “What do you want?” “Will not monsieur dine? It is after six o’clock; that is why I ventured--I was afraid that monsieur was ill.” “No, thanks, I will not dine. But what did my daughter say when she went away? What did she do, poor child?” “Oh! she wanted to carry her doll, monsieur, but her mother would not let her; she told her that she would buy her another one.” “Is that all?” “Then Mamzelle Henriette said: ‘Why don’t we wait for papa before we go to ride?’” “Dear child, she thought of me!” Those words did me good. I came to my senses. Eugénie had not said where she was going, but I could learn through her banker. I simply must know, and then we would see if she would refuse to give me back my daughter. I cast my weakness behind me and thought only of avenging myself on Dulac. I knew where he would be that evening. I was to take madame there. But suppose that she had written to him, suppose she had informed him of what had taken place? But no, her first thought had been to fly.