And yet, when Henri returned home, he experienced a strange feeling of repentance for his haste. Mathilde presented herself to his mind as calm, sweet, and pure; Muse, on the contrary, under a menacing aspect. The one he did not love, but esteemed; the other he loved, but did not esteem. He loved her, if a passion which was entirely sensual merits that name.
He saw himself in the future bound to a new companion, full of coquetry and schemes, and endowed with an unendurable mother-in-law. He saw the luxury with which he would have to surround them, and the slavery to which he would be doomed. He shivered with dread at the very idea. Unhappily for him, it was now too late to draw back.
Mathilde looked for an outburst the next morning at breakfast; but none came. Henri was unusually reserved, almost timid; he looked at his watch often, and under pretext of important business soon left the house.
Mann came to dinner, and informed Segel of the happy result of his negotiations. At table the couple, already morally divorced, seemed ill at ease. Mathilde taciturn, Henri almost mute, let Mann and two other guests do the talking. At dessert came Samuel, who amused the company for some time with his witty sayings. On leaving the table he took his daughter by the hand to lead her to the garden. He insisted on her putting on her hat, saying the sun was yet warm; then he conducted her to the street, where a carriage awaited them.
"My dear child," said the father, "we will take a short ride. It will do you good, for the air is fresh and agreeable this evening." A half-hour after, the carriage stopped at the door of her father's house.
"Here," said he, embracing Mathilde, "is your home. You will not return to Segel's. I have had your old room prepared for you."
The gordian knot was thus severed with the greatest simplicity. The young woman saw no more of her former husband. Aided by the English governess, she occupied herself with household cares. With what secret satisfaction she renewed her former life! Her springtime revived. But she was at times a prey to deep anxiety, for Jacob had not written since his letter of farewell, and all traces of him were lost.
The revolution, contrary to all expectations, took on larger proportions daily.
Owing to the assumed names which the chiefs and soldiers of the insurrection bore, all steps to ascertain Jacob's whereabouts proved fruitless.
Mathilde was almost in despair, yet she seemed to hear a voice say to her:--