That very evening Lord Grenville left them. His last look at Julie
made it miserably plain that since the moment when sympathy revealed
the full extent of a tyrannous passion, he did well to mistrust
himself.

The next morning, M. d'Aiglemont and his wife took their places in the
carriage without their traveling companion, and were whirled swiftly
along the road to Blois. The Marquise was constantly put in mind of
the journey made in 1814, when as yet she know nothing of love, and
had been almost ready to curse it for its persistency. Countless
forgotten impressions were revived. The heart has its own memory. A
woman who cannot recollect the most important great events will
recollect through a lifetime things which appealed to her feelings;
and Julie d'Aiglemont found all the most trifling details of that
journey laid up in her mind. It was pleasant to her to recall its
little incidents as they occurred to her one by one; there were points
in the road when she could even remember the thoughts that passed
through her mind when she saw them first.

Victor had fallen violently in love with his wife since she had
recovered the freshness of her youth and all her beauty, and now he
pressed close to her side like a lover. Once he tried to put his arm
round her, but she gently disengaged herself, finding some excuse or
other for evading the harmless caress. In a little while she shrank
from the close contact with Victor, the sensation of warmth
communicated by their position. She tried to take the unoccupied place
opposite, but Victor gallantly resigned the back seat to her. For this
attention she thanked him with a sigh, whereupon he forgot himself,
and the Don Juan of the garrison construed his wife's melancholy to