The companion whose arm rested upon hers in that carriage, and who had inspired her with such pity fifteen minutes before, now rendered her fearful.

She seemed to be seated by the side of another person.

In the creature whose thin nostrils were dilated with passion, whose mouth was distorted with bitterness, whose eyes sparkled with anger, she no longer recognized little Madame Maitland, so taciturn, so reserved that she was looked upon as insignificant.

What had that voice, usually so musical, told her; that voice so suddenly become harsh, and which had already revealed to her the great danger suspended over Boleslas?
To what woman had that voice alluded, and what meant that sudden reticence?
Lydia was fully aware of the grief into which she would plunge Maud without the slightest premeditation.

For a moment she thought it almost a crime to say more to a woman thus deluded.