Herein lay matter for thought.

For the very morning before their arrival she had been particularly bright and gay, telling him of her intended action in making arrangements to free herself from her empty marriage bonds, and apparently contemplating a new life with Lord Fordyce with satisfaction.
Pere Anselme was a great student of Voltaire and looked upon his tale of "Zadig" as one from which much benefit could be derived.

And now he began to put the method of this citizen of Babylon into practice, never having heard of the immortal Sherlock Holmes.
The end of his cogitations directed upon this principle brought him two concrete facts.
Number one: That Sabine had been deeply affected by the presence of the second Englishman--the handsome and vital young man--and number two: That she was now certainly regretting that she was going to obtain her divorce.

Further use of Zadig's deductive method produced the conviction that, as an abstract young man would be equally out of reach were she still bound to her husband--or married to Lord Fordyce--and could only be obtained were she divorced--some other reason for her distaste and evident depression about this latter state coming to her must be looked for, and could only be found in the supposition that the Seigneur of Arranstoun might be himself her husband! Why, then, this mystery?
Why had not he and she told the truth?
Zadig's counsel could not help him to unravel this point, and he continued to pace the walk with impatient sighs.
He was even more of a gentleman than of a priest, and therefore forbore to question Sabine directly, but that afternoon, with the intention of directing her mind into facing eventualities, he had talked of Lord Fordyce, and what would be the duties of her future position as his wife.

Sabine replied without enthusiasm in her tones, while her words gave a picture of all that any woman's heart could desire: "He is a very fine character, it would seem," the Pere Anselme said.
"And he loves you with a deep devotion." Sabine clasped her hands suddenly, as though the thought gave her physical pain.
"He loves me too much, Father; no woman should be loved like that; it fills her with fear." "Fear of what ?" "Fear of failing to come up to the standard of his ideal of her--fear of breaking his heart." "I told him in the beginning it were wiser to be certain all cinders were cold before embarking upon fresh ties," Pere Anselme remarked meditatively, "and he assured me that he would ascertain facts, and whether or no you felt he could make you happy." "And he did," Sabine's voice was strained.