"You have vanquished my ill-luck," Felicite would sometimes say to her husband.
One of the rare weaknesses of her energetic nature was to believe herself stricken by misfortune.

Hitherto, so she asserted, nothing had been successful with either herself or her father, in spite of all their efforts.

Goaded by her southern superstition, she prepared to struggle with fate as one struggles with somebody who is endeavouring to strangle one.

Circumstances soon justified her apprehensions in a singular manner.

Ill-luck returned inexorably.