Bernard, awakened by the sound of their voices, had put on a dressing-gown and was waiting for them in the drawing-room. Thérèse was wrong to banish the memory of that scene that broke out between brother and sister. This man, who could seize a poor worn-out child so roughly by the wrists, drag her up to a room on the second floor, and bolt the door, is your husband, Thérèse: that Bernard, who, in two hours’ time, will be your judge. The spirit of the family inspired him, and not for one instant did he waver. He always knew, in every sort of situation, what was due to the family. You, in the agony of your remorse, Thérèse, are preparing a long appeal: but only men with no principles can listen to a reason that is not their own. Bernard will laugh at your arguments: “I know what I have to do.” He always knows what he has to do. If he sometimes hesitates, he says: “The family have discussed it and we have decided that....” How can you doubt that he has prepared his sentence: Your destiny is fixed for ever: you may as well go to sleep. CHAPTER VIII After the La Traves had brought Anne back, defeated, to Saint Clair Thérèse had not left Argelouse until just before her baby was born. She knew the silence of the place only too well during those interminable November nights. A letter addressed to Jean Azévédo had remained unanswered. He doubtless considered that this country-bred creature was not worth the trouble of a correspondence. In the first place, a pregnant woman is never an agreeable recollection. Perhaps, at a distance, this foolish fellow, who would have been captivated by poses and sham complications, thought her dull. But what could he understand of that deceptive simplicity of mind, that frank expression, those bold unhesitating gestures? In point of fact, he believed her capable, like little Anne, of taking him at his word, and leaving everything for his sake. Jean Azévédo mistrusted women who surrendered too soon to give the assailant time to raise the siege. Nothing dismayed him so much as victory, and the fruits of victory. Yet Thérèse made an effort to live in this young man’s world: but some books which Jean admired, and which she had got from Bordeaux, she could not understand. How empty her life was! She was not to be asked to work at baby-linen: “That was not her business,” Madame de la Trave used to say. Many women die in childbirth in the country. Thérèse made Aunt Clara cry by assuring her that she would end like her mother, that she was certain she would not escape. She did not fail to add that she was content to die: which was untrue! She had never longed so ardently to live: nor had Bernard ever displayed so much solicitude for her. “He was not concerned about me, but about what I carried within me. He used to say, in his dreadful accent: ‘Have some more soup ... don’t eat any fish ... you have walked enough to-day....’ I did not care: I was no more touched than a