She expected no one else. She had invited Mme. de Crozet, whose children were friends of Marie Louise and Philippe, but she had expressed her regrets in a short note, which was an evident refusal to have anything to do with a woman who was separated from her husband. That first insult was very painful to her. Did it forbade others? It was already late when her mother came to see her. She had not consulted her about relinquishing her rights and felt remorseful. It was a very general case in family histories:--the wife, after her marriage, continues to remain under her parents' direction, and particularly under that of her mother, even when they do not seek to exert that influence. She asks their advice on every occasion. Then, one fine day, she asserts herself, paying no attention to the painful astonishment, which so radical a change cannot fail to provoke. Elizabeth, after her despair at Uriage, took a long time to release herself. Feeling she was not understood, and realizing that she had been ill-advised in the past, she had without consideration taken her freedom. Made self-centered by sorrow, as happens with weak natures, she did not notice the grief of other people. Mme. Molay-Norrois had suffered from her daughter's reserve, particularly painful to her, but had not been able to do anything but burden her with impolitic advice; so the gulf between them had widened day by day. They exchanged only a few insignificant words like feeble calls which cannot be heard across a ravine. Elizabeth inquired for her father's health. "He is bored in bed," explained her mother. "He is very impatient. I read to him. He needs so much distraction--he is so unaccustomed to suffering!" What were they going to say, now that they had touched upon their only common interest? Mme. Molay-Norrois hesitated then, timidly ventured, looking down on the floor to lessen her seeming boldness. "So you ... you are resigned ... as well?" Quite taken aback by this last word which might have been accidental, referring without definite application to similar cases, and merely said to fill in the silence, Elizabeth looked at her mother attentively. At one glance, she noticed on the face, still youthful, patient and smiling, traces of suffering, which she would have been unable to see several months before. She had no doubts--she could have no doubts--as to her discovery. "Mother," she sighed affectionately, throwing herself into her arms. The two women remained for a long time in each other's embrace. Unhappiness restored their intimacy of former days, when one of them was only a little girl.