Her whole days were ruled with sternest discipline until she became quite thin, and the Pere Anselme grew worried about her.
A fortnight went by; it was growing near to Christmastime--but the atmosphere of Heronac contained no peace, and one bleak afternoon the old priest paced the long walk in the garden with knitted brows.

He did not feel altogether sure as to what was his duty.

He was always on the side of leaving things in the hand of the good God, but it might be that he would be selected to be an instrument of fate, since he seemed the only detached person with any authority in the affair.
His Dame d'Heronac had tried hard to be natural and her old self, he could see that, but her taste in their reading had been over much directed to Heine, she having brought French translations of this poet's works back with her from Paris.
Twice also had she asked him to recite to her De Musset's "_La Nuit de Decembre_." He did not consider these as satisfactory symptoms.

There was no question in his astute mind as to what was the general cause of his beloved lady's unrest.

The change in her had begun to take place ever since the fatal visit of the two Englishmen.