Henrietta, poor thing, had not the spirit to answer him back: "If you
knew this, why did you marry me? Why did you not leave me then to him
with whom I should have been happy if poor?" She could only reply with
tears. She trembled before him while she loathed him.
And yet how dependent she was on him.
She was well aware now of what her brother was accused, and never
doubted for a moment what she ought to do. She ought to atone for his
fault by an act of self-sacrifice. She must recognize the forgery as her
real signature. But what then? The recognition of the signature must
needs have consequences. What would be the result of her action?
She could see she had no help to expect from her husband. At every step
she perceived that he eagerly sought occasion to quarrel with her and
seized every pretext for avoiding her. And now to add to her
embarrassment, there was this unlucky Mikalai accident. It seemed just
to have come in the nick of time so far as he was concerned, just as if
he had actually agreed with Fatia Negra that the latter should rob him
on the high road in the most artful manner so that she might not have
the slightest hope left of being relieved from her anxieties by the
assistance of her husband. The baron, now could always end every
_tete-a-tete_ by remarking that that rogue Fatia Negra had relieved him
of all his money, and he knew not how to make good his loss.
Pages:
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250