As the Comtesse de Soulanges drove across Paris from the Chausee
d'Antin to the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where she lived, her soul was
prey to many alarms. Before leaving the Hotel Gondreville she went
through all the rooms, but found neither her aunt nor her husband, who
had gone away without her. Frightful suspicions then tortured her
ingenuous mind. A silent witness of her husbands' torments since the
day when Madame de Vaudremont had chained him to her car, she had
confidently hoped that repentance would ere long restore her husband
to her. It was with unspeakable repugnance that she had consented to
the scheme plotted by her aunt, Madame de Lansac, and at this moment
she feared she had made a mistake.

The evening's experience had saddened her innocent soul. Alarmed at
first by the Count's look of suffering and dejection, she had become
more so on seeing her rival's beauty, and the corruption of society
had gripped her heart. As she crossed the Pont Royal she threw away
the desecrated hair at the back of the diamond, given to her once as a
token of the purest affection. She wept as she remembered the bitter
grief to which she had so long been a victim, and shuddered more than
once as she reflected that the duty of a woman, who wishes for peace
in her home, compels her to bury sufferings so keen as hers at the
bottom of her heart, and without a complaint.

"Alas!" thought she, "what can women do when they do not love? What is
the fount of their indulgence? I cannot believe that, as my aunt tells
me, reason is all-sufficient to maintain them in such devotion."