The somber picture which he had for a moment imagined of a Christine forgetting her duty to herself made way for his original conception of an unfortunate, innocent child, the victim of imprudence and exaggerated sensibility.

To what extent, at this time, was she really a victim?
Whose prisoner was she?
Into what whirlpool had she been dragged?
He asked himself these questions with a cruel anguish; but even this pain seemed endurable beside the frenzy into which he was thrown at the thought of a lying and deceitful Christine.

What had happened?
What influence had she undergone?
What monster had carried her off and by what means?
...
By what means indeed but that of music?
He knew Christine's story.
After her father's death, she acquired a distaste of everything in life, including her art.

She went through the CONSERVATOIRE like a poor soulless singing-machine.

And, suddenly, she awoke as though through the intervention of a god.