The expectation of indefinite evil is torture to every one; suffering assumes the proportions of the unknown, and the unknown is the infinite of the soul.

To Ursula the pain was exquisite.

Something without her bounded at the slightest noise; yet she was afraid of silence, and suspected even the walls of collusion.

Even her sleep was restless.

Goupil, who knew nothing of her nature, delicate as that of a flower, had found, with the instinct of evil, the poison that could wither and destroy her.
The next day passed without a shock.