went indoors again, a defeated, utterly broken man.

In every encounter with this delicate creature the giant had been
worsted.

After this, however, she never went beyond the grounds. For the
first few years she was only seen by the people about the estate,
and by them but seldom. Sometimes she would take her boy out in
his little carriage, or, as time went on, would lead him by the
hand, sometimes she was alone. She was generally wrapped in a big
shawl, a different one for each dress she wore, and which she
always held tightly round her. This was so characteristic of her
that to this day I hear people from the neighbourhood talk about
it as though she were never seen otherwise.

What then did she do? She studied; she had given up writing: for
more than one reason it had become distasteful to her. She had
changed roles with her husband, giving herself up to mathematics,
chemistry, and physics, she made calculations and analyses--
sending for books and materials for these objects. The people on
the estate saw nothing extraordinary in all this. From the first
they had admired her delicacy and beauty. Every one admired her;
it was only the manner and degree that varied.

Little by little she came to be regarded as one whose life and
thoughts were beyond their comprehension.

She sought no one, but to those who came to her she never refused
help--more or less. She made herself well acquainted with the
facts of each case; no one could ever deceive her. Whether she