Suddenly an image appeared to come before her eyes--that of Claire.

She saw her, as she had occasionally had a glimpse of her in the alleys of the Park during the winter, or as she had seen her on fete days in the Cathedral.

A tall young lady, a brunette, very handsome, of a much more striking beauty than her own, and with a royal bearing and appearance.

Notwithstanding her haughty air, she was said to be very good and kind.
"So he is to marry this elegant young lady, who is not only beautiful but very rich," she murmured.
Then, as if suddenly pierced by a sharp agony, she exclaimed: "He uttered a falsehood! He did not tell me this!" She recollected now the momentary hesitation of Felicien, the rush of blood which had coloured his cheeks when she spoke to him of their marriage.

The shock was so great that she turned deadly pale, and her head fell heavily on her mother's shoulders.
"My darling, my dear darling! This is, indeed, a cruel thing; I know it well.