Jacqueline, vol 3 | Page 5

avoid any explanation. This programme was
faithfully carried out, thanks to the great tact of Madame de Nailles.
No one could have been more watchful to appear ignorant of
everything which, if once brought to light, would have led to
difficulties; for instance, she feigned not to know that her stepdaughter
was in possession of a secret which, if the world knew, would forever
make them strangers to each other; nor would she seem aware that
Hubert Marien, weary to death of the tie that bound him to her, was
restrained from breaking it only by a scruple of honor. Thanks to this
seeming ignorance, she parted from Jacqueline without any open
breach, as she had long hoped to do, and she retained as a friend who
supplied her wants a man who was only too happy to be allowed at this
price to escape the act of reparation which Jacqueline, in her simplicity,
had dreaded.
All those who, having for years dined and danced under the roof of the
Nailles, were accounted their friends by society, formed themselves
into two parties, one of which lauded to the skies the dignity and
resignation of the Baroness, while the other admired the force of
character in Jacqueline.
Visitors flocked to the convent which the young girl, by the advice of
Giselle, had chosen for her retreat because it was situated in a quiet
quarter. She who looked so beautiful in her crape garments, who
showed herself so satisfied in her little cell with hardly any furniture,
who was grateful for the services rendered her by the lay sisters,
content with having no salon but the convent parlor, who was passing
examinations to become a teacher, and who seemed to consider it a
favor to be sometimes allowed to hear the children in the convent
school say their lessons--was surely like a heroine in a novel. And
indeed Jacqueline had the agreeable sensation of considering herself
one. Public admiration was a great help to her, after she had passed
through that crisis in her grief during which she could feel nothing but
the horror of knowing she should never see her father again, when she
had ceased to weep for him incessantly, to pray for him, and to turn,

like a wounded lioness, on those who blamed his reckless conduct,
though she herself had been its chief victim.
For three months she hardly left the convent, walking only in the
grounds and gardens, which were of considerable extent. From time to
time Giselle came for her and took her to drive in the Bois at that hour
of the day when few people were there.
Enguerrand, who, thanks to his mother's care, was beginning to be an
intelligent and interesting child, though he was still painfully like M. de
Talbrun, was always with them in the coupe, kindhearted Giselle
thinking that nothing could be so likely to assuage grief as the prattle of
a child. She was astonished--she was touched to the heart, by what she
called naively the conversion of Jacqueline. It was true that the young
girl had no longer any whims or caprices. All the nuns seemed to her
amiable, her lodging was all she needed, her food was excellent; her
lessons gave her amusement. Possibly the excitement of the entire
change had much to do at first with this philosophy, and in fact at the
end of six months Jacqueline owned that she was growing tired of
dining at the table d'hote.
There was a little knot of crooked old ladies who were righteous
overmuch, and several sour old maids whose only occupation seemed
to be to make remarks on any person who had anything different in
dress, manners, or appearance from what they considered the type of
the becoming. If it is not good that man should live alone, it is equally
true that women should not live together. Jacqueline found this out as
soon as her powers of observation came back to her. And about the
same time she discovered that she was not so free as she had flattered
herself she should be. The appearance of a lady, fair and with light hair,
very pretty and about her own age, gave her for the first time an
inclination to talk at table. She and this young woman met twice a day
at their meals, in the morning and in the evening; their rooms were next
each other, and at night Jacqueline could hear her through the thin
partition giving utterance to sighs, which showed that she was unhappy.
Several times, too, she came upon her in the garden looking earnestly at
a place where the wall had been broken, a spot whence it was said a

Spanish countess had been carried off by a bold adventurer. Jacqueline