before her. Entering it two minutes later she said quietly as she put down her extinguished lamp—
"Victor rests well: he smiled in his sleep; he has your smile, monsieur."
The said Victor was of course her own boy, born in the third year of our marriage: his Christian name had been given him in honour of M. Vandenhuten, who continued always our trusty and well-beloved friend.
Frances was then a good and dear wife to me, because I was to her a good, just, and faithful husband. What she would have been had she married a harsh, envious, careless man—a profligate, a prodigal, a drunkard, or a tyrant, is another question, and one which I once propounded to her; her answer, given after some reflection, was—
"I should have tried to endure the evil or cure it for awhile; and when I found it intolerable and incurable, I should have left my torturer suddenly and silently."
