It was not inexplicable that she wished to go.

But that her desire to go should contain a vague joy, that she should feel the charm of what she was to find, was inexplicable to her.
Her carriage left her at the corner of a street.
There, under the roof of a tall house, behind five windows, in a small, neat apartment, Madame Marmet had lived since the death of her husband.
Countess Martin found her in her modest drawing-room, opposite M.
Lagrange, half asleep in a deep armchair.

This worldly old savant had remained ever faithful to her.

He it was who, the day after M.Marmet's funeral, had conveyed to the unfortunate widow the poisoned speech delivered by Schmoll.

She had fainted in his arms.