I am persuaded, too, that Mademoiselle de
Gringrimeau exercised her spite in keeping the two young creatures
from any childish or innocent enjoyments that might have drawn them
together. If etiquette were the idol of that lady, I am sure that
spite flavoured the incense she burned to it.
I think, if I had been in Cecile's position, I should either have
gone mad, or have died under the restraint and dreariness; but she
lived on in the dull dream of half-comprehended wretchedness, and
gave birth to her daughter, but without being in the least cheered,
for a peasant woman was in waiting, who carried the child off while
she was still too much exhausted to have even kissed it. All she
obtained was universal murmuring at the sex of the poor little thing.
It seemed the climax of all her crimes, which might be involuntary,
but for which she was made to suffer as much as if they had been her
fault.
Her husband was more displeased than any one else; above all when he
heard the news of Rocroy; and then it was that he devised the scheme
of running away, and in discussing it with her became more friendly
than ever before. Of course it was dreadful to her that he should go
to the war, but the gratification of helping him, keeping his secret,
plotting with him, getting a few careless thanks and promises,
carried the day, and bore her through the parting. 'He really did
embrace me of his own accord,' said the poor young creature; and it
was on that embrace that she had ever since lived, in hope that when
they should meet again he might find it possible to give her a few
shreds of affection.
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