Maud Gorka watched her with the same terrified horror with which she would have seen some one killed and robbed.

That honorable soul revolted at the scene in which her mere presence made of her an accomplice.

But at the same time she was a prey, as had been her husband several days before, to that maddening appetite to know the truth, which becomes, in certain forms of doubt, a physical need, as imperious as hunger and thirst, and she listened to Florent's sister, who continued: "Will it be a proof when you have seen the affair written in her own hand?
Yes," she continued, with cruel irony, "she loves correspondence, our fortunate rival.

Justice must be rendered her that she may make no more avowals.

She writes as she feels.