She forgot herself, in an instant, never dreaming that the matter could concern her. Had not all ties between herself and Raymond Bercy been broken off for more than a year? Were they not broken that day when he had not hesitated, in his mother’s house, to break his engagement to her and save the honour of his name? The young man had made no attempt to recapture her affection or her promise to him. Developments had broken on them like a tempest: the accusation by Mr. Frasne, Mrs. Roquevillard’s death, Maurice’s sentence for contempt, the shame and ruin of the family that resulted from it, and, last cruelty of all, the loss of the firstborn son, their future hope and stay. It was more than enough to justify one’s giving up, keeping away from people, forgetting. Was it not the privilege of unhappiness to hide itself? She had enjoyed her tears and her affliction by herself. She had jealously extracted the very essence of her grief, not sharing it with any one. By what right did this man come here again to impose his useless presence and his futile sympathy upon her? But no doubt something else had determined him upon this measure. Perhaps he knew something that would be of value in the defence of her accused brother. On such a pretext, and on this only, she could excuse him for having forced the guards and introduced himself into the house. He made, no haste to explain himself. He was visibly under the dominion of some great inner trouble. “Tell me your business, please,” she said. “It’s nothing to do with Maurice,” he replied blankly. “What is it then?” She made a step toward him, and threw back the veil, which had embarrassed her movements and half concealed her. Coming to him thus, straight and rigid, she seemed to him more distant still. Her face, between the black of her dress and her bonnet, stood out so pale, with bruised eyes and lips like a single red line, that he felt her far away from him and sorrowful. He feared lest he should not move her, yet he was greedy to bring her the comfort of his passionate tenderness. He kept back his tears, and summoning all his courage, began to speak, stammering at first, then going on in a voice which little by little grew more firm: