And thus she awaited the revenge of
destiny in that luxurious house, which was far too large now that she
alone inhabited it. She only occupied the rooms on the first floor, where
she shut herself up for days together with an old serving woman, the sole
domestic that she had retained. Gowned in black, as if bent on wearing
eternal mourning for Maurice, always erect, stiff, and haughtily silent,
she never complained, although her covert exasperation had greatly
affected her heart, in such wise that she experienced at times most
terrible attacks of stifling. These she kept as secret as possible, and
one day when the old servant ventured to go for Doctor Boutan she
threatened her with dismissal. She would not even answer the doctor, and
she refused to take any remedies, certain as she felt that she would last
as long as the hope which buoyed her up.
Yet what anguish it was when she suddenly began to stifle, all alone in
the empty house, without son or husband near her! She called nobody since
she knew that nobody would come. And the attack over, with what
unconquerable obstinacy did she rise erect again, repeating that her
presence sufficed to prevent Denis from being the master, from reigning
alone in full sovereignty, and that in any case he would not have the
house and install himself in it like a conqueror, so long as she had not
sunk to death under the final collapse of the ceilings.
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