I leave for Havre. Irene is at death's door; her mother recalls me. I hasten, I save her.
During a whole month that I am by the child's bedside, does Catherine utter one word of gratitude, one word of tenderness?
No.
We go to the Grove; she shows the same calm, cold feeling towards me.
But one day an official publication announces that I am to be called to a high post, where state secrets culminate.
The evening of that very day, this woman, until then so austere, so reserved, so chaste, throws herself suddenly into my arms.
It is true, she says she was drawn by her grateful admiration for a sacrifice unknown to her until then.
If she is to be believed, what is her heart made of?
I have saved her child's life, and Catherine remains insensible.
I sustain a financial loss, and Catherine forgets all for my sake.