She was not in a situation that could bear of her blaming herself.
While she was thus devoured by the legions of her enfeebled wits, Clotilde was assiduously courted by her family, and her father from time to time brought pen and paper for her to write anew from his dictation.
He was pleased to hail her as his fair secretary, and when the letters were unimportant she wrote flowingly, happy to be praised.

They were occasionally addressed to friends; she discovered herself writing one to the professor, in which he was about to be informed that she had resolved to banish Alvan from her mind for ever.

She stopped; her heart stopped; the pen fell from her hand, in loathing.

Her father warily bade her proceed.

She could not; she signified it choking.