"I, leave you!" he cried, throwing his arms about her. "Oh! Constance, can you believe that I have ceased for one instant to love you? No, I swear to you, you alone possess my heart! I realize the wrong I have done; I propose to assure Sister Anne's future; I must do it. Could I help feeling profoundly moved when I saw her again? And the child--I love him, and I propose to see to his future welfare and happiness; for that you cannot blame me. I approve all your plans; I know the goodness of your heart, the nobility of your soul. How few wives would have acted as you have done! Command me: send Sister Anne away; let her go to-morrow." "To-morrow! oh! no, dear. The poor child is ill--very ill! she shall not leave this place until she has fully recovered. So long as she is here--you must avoid seeing her; your presence can do her nothing but harm. Promise me that you will not see her; that is the only sacrifice I ask of you." "I will do whatever you say." "When she has recovered, I will go with her myself to her new home, and I will not leave her until I am certain that she lacks nothing." Frédéric embraced Constance with profound affection; her kindness of heart made her even dearer to him. A wife ought never to employ any other weapons; reproaches and complaints repel a husband; gentleness and indulgence always end by winning back his heart. In her husband's arms, Constance found happiness once more; he swore to her that he loved no one but her, and she believed his oaths: could she live without his love? Early the next morning, Constance went to the pavilion; and Frédéric sought Dubourg and Ménard, to tell them of his wife's noble conduct. "There aren't many women like her," said Dubourg; "guard her carefully; you cannot love her too dearly; you have a veritable treasure in her!" "Madame de Montreville's conduct," said Ménard, "is certainly worthy of one of Plutarch's heroines; and I know of nothing finer in history save that of Cunegunde, wife of the Emperor Henry II, who grasped a red-hot iron to prove her chastity." Sister Anne was still in an alarming condition; she recognized nobody, but she seemed to be constantly looking for somebody and holding out her arms to him. Constance looked to it that she wanted nothing; she herself brought a doctor to her, and installed at her bedside an old maid-servant, who did not leave her for an instant. Then Constance took little Frédéric and carried him to her husband. "Love him dearly," she said, as she placed him in his arms; "by making the child happy, you can best atone for the wrong you have done the mother. I feel that I, too, love him as if he were my own son. When I first saw him, a secret presentiment seemed to tell me that he belonged to you; and that thought made me love him more rather than less."