But she said nothing, and by-and-by, promising to return before bed-time, she went upstairs to her mother.
The nights were at their longest, and the two had closed and lighted before five.

Outside the cold stillness of a winter night and a freezing sky settled down on Geneva; within, Claude sat with sad eyes fixed on the smouldering fire.

What could he do?
What could he do?
Wait and see her innocence outraged, her tenderness racked, her gentle body given up to unspeakable torments?
The collapse which he had witnessed gave him as it were a foretaste, a bitter savour of the trials to come.

It did not seem to him that he could bear even the anticipation of them.

He rose, he sat down, he rose again, unable to endure the intolerable thought.