Jenny understood the miserable meanness of her conduct when she saw this great grief, this silent despair, this man with a broken heart. Was she not the cause of all? She had guessed who the writer of the note was. She thought when she asked Sauvresy to come to her, that she could tell him all, and thus avenge herself at once upon Hector and her rival. Then, on seeing this man refusing to comprehend her hints, she had been full of pity for him. She had said to herself that he would be the one who would be most cruelly punished; and then she had recoiled--but too late--and he had snatched the secret from her. She approached Sauvresy and tried to take his hands; he still repulsed her. "Let me alone," said he. "Pardon me, sir--I am a wretch, I am horrified at myself." He rose suddenly; he was gradually coming to himself. "What do you want?" "That letter--I guessed--" He burst into a loud, bitter, discordant laugh, and replied: "God forgive me! Why, my dear, did you dare to suspect my wife?" While Jenny was muttering confused excuses, he drew out his pocket-book and took from it all the money it contained--some seven or eight hundred francs--which he put on the table. "Take this, from Hector," said he, "he will not permit you to suffer for anything; but, believe me, you had best let him get married." Then he mechanically took up his gun, opened the door, and went out. His dogs leaped upon him to caress him; he kicked them off. Where was he going? What was he going to do? XVIII