“But now that the first shock is over, madame, being a mother and a Christian, you will do your duty.  My duty is to save your daughter and her child.  I will call to-morrow.”

Mme. de la Verberie had no idea of having the doctor go off in this way.  She called him back, and, without reflecting that she was betraying herself, cried out: 

“Do you pretend to say, monsieur, that you will prevent my taking every means to conceal this terrible misfortune that has fallen upon me?  Do you wish our shame to be made public, to make me the laughing-stock of the neighborhood?”

The doctor reflected without answering; the condition of affairs was grave.

“No, madame,” he finally said; “I cannot prevent your leaving La Verberie:  that would be overstepping my powers.  But it is my duty to hold you to account for the child.  You are at liberty to go where you please; but you must give me proof of the child’s living, or at least that no attempts have been made against its life.”

After uttering these threatening words he left the house, and it was in good time; for the countess was choking with suppressed rage.

“Insolent upstart!” she said, “to presume to dictate to a woman of my rank!  Ah, if I were not completely at his mercy!”

But she was at his mercy, and she knew well enough that it would be safest to obey.

She stamped her foot with anger, as she thought that all her ambitious plans were dashed to the ground.

No more hopes of luxury, of a millionaire son-in-law, of splendid carriages, rich dresses, and charming card-parties where she could lose money all night without disturbing her mind.

She would have to die as she had lived, neglected and poor; and this future life of deprivation would be harder to bear than the past, because she no longer had bright prospects to look forward to.  It was a cruel awakening from her golden dreams.

And it was Valentine who brought this misery upon her.

This reflection aroused all her inherent bitterness, and she felt toward her daughter one of those implacable hatreds which, instead of being quenched, are strengthened by time.

She wished she could see Valentine lying dead before her; above all would she like the accursed infant to come to grief.

But the doctor’s threatening look was still before her, and she dared not attempt her wicked plans.  She even forced herself to go and say a few forgiving words to Valentine, and then left her to the care of the faithful Mihonne.

Poor Valentine! she prayed that death might kindly end her sufferings.  She had neither the moral nor physical courage to fight against her fate, but hopelessly sank beneath the first blow, and made no attempt to rally herself.

She was, however, getting better.  She felt that dull, heavy sensation which always follows violent mental or physical suffering; she was still able to reflect, and thought: