As he entered, the pallid face
blushed brightly and recovered for an instant the semblance of health.
Balthazar came to her bedside, took her hand, saw the misleading color
on her cheek, and to him she seemed well. When he asked, "My dear
wife, how are you to-day?" she answered, "Better, dear friend," and
made him think she would be up and recovered on the morrow. His
preoccupation was so great that he accepted this reply, and believed
the illness of which his wife was dying a mere indisposition. Dying to
the eyes of the world, in his alone she was living.
A complete separation between husband and wife was the result of this
year. Claes slept in a distant chamber, got up early in the morning,
and shut himself into his laboratory or his study. Seeing his wife
only in presence of his daughters or of the two or three friends who
came to visit them, he lost the habit of communicating with her. These
two beings, formerly accustomed to think as one, no longer, unless at
rare intervals, enjoyed those moments of communion, of passionate
unreserve which feed the life of the heart; and finally there came a
time when even these rare pleasures ceased. Physical suffering was now
a boon to the poor woman, helping her to endure the void of
separation, which might have killed her had she been truly living. Her
bodily pain became so great that there were times when she was joyful
in the thought that he whom she loved was not a witness of it.
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