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She bore him no ill-will, but she could not approach
him without experiencing a feeling of fear and
dislike. Her subjugated heart revenged itself. “You
would not allow me to love,” it said; “but I am still
your master. You will end by hating.”
Accustomed as she was to keep a close watch
upon all that passed within her, she knew but too
well how that dislike deepened, how it grew day by
day, and at the same time it seemed as if she were
now bound forever to her home. She knew quite
well it would be best for her to go out into the
world again, but she could not bring herself to it
after her illness. Still there was no relief to be found.
She would be tortured thus, till one day she would
lose her self-control and break out against her
father; she would show him the bitterness of her
heart, and after that there would be strife and
sorrow between them.
Thus the spring and early summer had passed.
In July she became engaged to Baron Adrian, to
secure a home for herself.
One beautiful morning Baron Adrian had ridden
up to the house, seated on a fine horse. His hussar
jacket shone in the sunlight, his spurs and sword
and belt glittered and beamed, not to speak of his
own fresh face and smiling eyes. Melchior Sinclaire
was standing on the hall steps and received him
when he came.
Marienne had been sitting at the window
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