Mathieu, however, asked her, "Am I to inform Beauchene of the steps I
take?"
"Do you as you please," she answered. "Still, that would be the best."
That same evening there came a complete rupture between herself and her
husband. She threw in Beauchene's face all the contempt and loathing that
she had felt for him for years. Hopeless as she was, she revenged herself
by telling him everything that she had on her heart and mind. And her
slim dark figure, upborne by bitter rage, assumed such redoubtable
proportions in his eyes that he felt frightened by her and fled.
Henceforth they were husband and wife in name only. It was logic on the
march, it was the inevitable disorganization of a household reaching its
climax, it was rebellion against nature's law and indulgence in vice
leading to the gradual decline of a man of intelligence, it was a hard
worker sinking into the sloth of so-called pleasure; and then, death
having snatched away the only son, the home broke to pieces--the
wife--fated to childlessness, and the husband driven away by her, rolling
through debauchery towards final ruin.
But Mathieu, keeping his promise to Constance, discreetly began his
researches.
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