He waited, thinking that it would soon expend itself; then when the sobs continued, he went over to her, and taking her gently in his arms, tried to soothe her by stroking her hair and calling her by the endearing names he had used during the first weeks of their marriage, and begging her to control herself for his sake, it hurt him so. After this last appeal, Blanche put her arms round his neck, and buried her head on his breast, and for a few moments they sat together without speaking, her body shaken now and then from the violence of her grief. Then Jules began to question her quietly, and the whole story of her sufferings since Jeanne's birth came out so pathetically that, in spite of his anger, he was touched, and convinced that, after all, the Englishwoman had been right. In his remorse that Blanche had suffered in silence, and he had not found it out, had done nothing to help her, he declared he would have the diving stopped at once, no matter what the cost might be. Rather than see her unhappy, he would make her give up performing altogether, if that were necessary. At any rate, he would go to Marshall the next day and see what could be done about taking her name off the bills. They would leave this disgusting London, perhaps for the south of France, where Blanche could have a long rest, and gather strength for her visit to America the next year. For a long time they talked over the plan, and then Jules made Blanche go to bed. "You'll not be able to do your work tomorrow," he said, "if you sit up much longer. Of course, you can't stop it at once. Marshall wouldn't listen to that. You're his best attraction, and he'll have to advertise your last appearances." For more than an hour after Blanche left him, Jules walked up and down the little drawing-room, smoking cigarettes. The revelation of his wife's trouble had so upset him that he felt unable to sleep. But it was of himself, not of her, that he was chiefly thinking. Dr. Broughton had told him that a long rest might cure Blanche of her nervous terror and relieve her of the pains in the back, but it was probable that she would be affected again as soon as she resumed her performance. If this proved true, his own career would be ruined; there would be no more travelling, no more triumphs! Blanche would sink into obscurity, would become a mere nonentity, devoted to her child and house-keeping, like scores of other wives and mothers that he knew and despised in Paris. Out of the circus, she was utterly commonplace, Jules said to himself, and the fact came to him with the force of a revelation! But for that he would never have married her; the brilliancy of her talent had dazzled him! And now, if she had to leave the circus, how beautifully he would have been tricked! He would be tied down to her and her child! The expense of maintaining them would oblige him to live meanly, in a way that he had never been used to, that he loathed.