A violent struggle was going on in Pierre’s mind, which he exerted to the utmost in seeking for some solution; at last, as though he felt vanquished, he murmured, in supplicating tones:  “I beseech you, do try to think of something; you haven’t said anything yet.”

Felicite raised her head, feigning surprise; and with a gesture of complete powerlessness she said:  “I am a fool in these matters.  I don’t understand anything about politics, you’ve told me so a hundred times.”

And then, as her embarrassed husband held his tongue and lowered his eyes, she continued slowly, but not reproachfully:  “You have not kept me informed of your affairs, have you?  I know nothing at all about them, I can’t even give you any advice.  It was quite right of you, though; women chatter sometimes, and it is a thousand times better for the men to steer the ship alone.”

She said this with such refined irony that her husband did not detect that she was deriding him.  He simply felt profound remorse.  And, all of a sudden, he burst out into a confession.  He spoke of Eugene’s letters, explained his plans, his conduct, with all the loquacity of a man who is relieving his conscience and imploring a saviour.  At every moment he broke off to ask:  “What would you have done in my place?” or else he cried, “Isn’t that so?  I was right, I could not act otherwise.”  But Felicite did not even deign to make a sign.  She listened with all the frigid reserve of a judge.  In reality she was tasting the most exquisite pleasure; she had got that sly-boots fast at last; she played with him like a cat playing with a ball of paper; and he virtually held out his hands to be manacled by her.

“But wait,” he said hastily, jumping out of bed.  “I’ll give you Eugene’s correspondence to read.  You can judge the situation better then.”

She vainly tried to hold him back by his night-shirt.  He spread out the letters on the table by the bed-side, and then got into bed again, and read whole pages of them, and compelled her to go through them herself.  She suppressed a smile, and began to feel some pity for the poor man.

“Well,” he said anxiously, when he had finished, “now you know everything.  Do you see any means of saving us from ruin!”

She still gave no answer.  She appeared to be pondering deeply.

“You are an intelligent woman,” he continued, in order to flatter her, “I did wrong in keeping any secret from you; I see it now.”

“Let us say nothing more about that,” she replied.  “In my opinion, if you had enough courage——­” And as he looked at her eagerly, she broke off and said, with a smile:  “But you promise not to distrust me any more?  You will tell me everything, eh?  You will do nothing without consulting me?”