It seemed to her that, after the death of their first-born, his silence
signified some contempt for her; in fact, she had, stupidly frank for
once, expressed relief at this escape from the cares of maternity. Did
he suspect that she had, not with any repugnance, precipitated its
death? She feared this passionate man who, by strength of will, made
himself calm, alarmed her more than an angry one would have done. Moved
by instinct, for she really felt that his sacrifice to her in marrying
had condoned for his father's blow at her ancestress, she tried to
return him harm for good. But it is not easy for a serpent to sting a
rock.

Recovered from the slight eclipse of beauty during her experience as a
mother, she endeavored to make him once again her worshiper. But her
tricks, her tears and her caresses seemed not to count as before when
they fled from Von Sendlingen's vengeance. He remained so strictly the
husband that she could perceive scarcely an atom of the lover. Then she
vowed to torture him: he should no longer find a wife in her--not even a
woman, still less a lovely companion; she would implant in him
intolerable longing and guard that he might not gratify it--not even
lull it on any side, while she would become a statue of marble to his
most maddening advance. He should have no more leisure for study, but be
thrilled with the incessant and implacable sensation which relaxes the
muscles, pales the blood, poisons the marrow, obscures reason, weakens
the will and eats away the soul.

Unfortunately for her hideous project, it was in vain that she painted
the lily of her cheeks and the carmine of her lips, studied useless arts
of the toilet harder than a sage muses over nature's secrets to benefit
mankind, and was the peerless darling of three years ago.