Out on him! She swept him from earth.
And she had built some of her hopes on the professor.

'False friend!' she cried.
She wept over Alvan for having had so false a friend.
There remained no one that could be expected to intervene with a strong arm save the baroness.

The professor's emphasized approval of her resolve to consult the wishes of her family was a shocking hypocrisy, and Clotilde thought of the contrast to it in her letter to the baroness.

The tripping and stumbling, prettily awkward little tone of gosling innocent new from its egg, throughout the letter, was a triumph of candour.

She repeated passages, paragraphs, of the letter, assuring herself that such affectionately reverential prattle would have moved her, and with the strongest desire to cast her arms about the writer: it had been composed to be moving to a woman, to any woman.