But she constantly appeared before him, living, in the delicious freshness of youth, such as she was when very young he had first met her and loved her with the devoted affection of maturity.

The torture then recommenced as keen and intense as on the day after her death: he mourned her, he longed for her with the same revolt against God Who had taken her from him; he was unable to calm himself until the break of day, when quite exhausted by contempt of himself and disgust of all the world.

Oh! Divine love! When he went out of his room Monseigneur resumed his severe attitude, his expression was calm and haughty, and his face was only slightly pale.

The morning when Felicien had made his confession he listened to him without interruption, controlling himself with so great an effort that not a fibre of his body quivered, and he looked earnestly at him, distressed beyond measure to see him, so young, so handsome, so eager, and so like himself in this folly of impetuous love.

It was no longer with bitterness, but it was his absolute will, his hard duty to save his son from the ills which had caused him so much suffering, and he would destroy the passion in his child as he wished to kill it in himself.
This romantic history ended by giving him great anxiety.