She soon felt, however, that this time her irritation was unjust. Laurent had behaved admirably toward both Palmer and herself during that wretched week which had ruined everything. After the first outburst, he had accepted the situation with perfect good faith, and had done his utmost not to give offence to Palmer. He had not once sought to take advantage with Thérèse of her fiancé's unjust suspicions. He had never failed to speak of him with respect and affection. By a strange concatenation of circumstances, it was he who had the dignified rôle during that week. And Thérèse could not help realizing that, although Laurent was sometimes insane to the point of downright atrocity, his mind was never open to any base or despicable thought. During the three months which followed Palmer's departure, Laurent continued to show that he was worthy of Thérèse's friendship. He had succeeded in discovering her retreat, and he did nothing to disturb her tranquillity. He wrote to her, complaining mildly of the coldness of her adieu, and reproaching her for not having confidence in him in her sorrows, for not treating him like a brother; "was he not created and brought into the world to serve her, to console her, to avenge her at need?" Then followed questions to which Thérèse was forced to reply. Had Palmer insulted her? Should he go to him and demand satisfaction? Did I do anything imprudent, which wounded you? Have you any reproach to bring against me? God knows, I did not think it! If I am the cause of your suffering, scold me, and if I am not the cause of it, tell me that you will allow me to weep with you. Thérèse justified Richard without entering into any explanations. She forbade Laurent to mention his name to her. In her generous determination to leave no stain on her fiancé's memory, she allowed him to believe that she alone was responsible for the rupture. Perhaps the result was to revive in Laurent's heart hopes which she had no purpose of reviving; but there are situations in which one bungles, whatever one may do, and rushes onward, impelled by fatality, to one's destruction. Laurent's letters were infinitely gentle and affectionate. He wrote without art, without pretension in the way of style, and often in bad taste and incorrectly. He was sometimes honestly emphatic, and sometimes childish without prudery. With all their defects, his letters were dictated by a depth of conviction which made them irresistibly persuasive, and one could feel in every word the fire of youth and the effervescent energy of an artist of genius. Moreover, Laurent began to work with great ardor, thoroughly resolved never to return to his former dissolute habits. His heart bled at the thought of the privations Thérèse had imposed upon herself in order to provide him with the variety, the bracing air, and the renewed health of the journey to Switzerland. He had determined to pay his debt at the earliest possible moment.