for her misfortune as her husband allowed her perfect liberty. She
grieved bitterly, for she did not know that my brother was impotent, and
fancied that the reason of his abstention was that he did not return her
love; and the mistake was an excusable one, for he was like a Hercules,
and indeed he was one, except where it was most to be desired. Her grief
threw her into a consumption of which she died five or six years later.
She did not mean her death to be a punishment to her husband, but we
shall see that it was so.

The next day I called on Madame Varnier to give her Madame Morin's
letter. I was cordially welcomed, and Madame Varnier was kind enough to
say that she had rather see me than anybody else in the world; her niece
had told her such strange things about me that she had got quite curious.
This, as is well known, is a prevailing complaint with women.

"You shall see my niece," she said, "and she will tell you all about
herself."

She wrote her a note, and put Madame Morin's letter under the same
envelope.

"If you want to know what my niece's answer is," said Madame Varnier,
"you must dine with me."

I accepted the invitation, and she immediately told her servant that she
was not at home to anyone.

The small messenger who had taken the note to Passi returned at four
o'clock with the following epistle: