Undying, unchanging love was what he wished for.

However, she had sworn, and he paid her as having done so.

But he felt that she was untruthful, incapable of common fidelity, apt to yield to friends, to stray passers-by, like a good-natured animal, born to live minus a shift.
One morning when he saw Foucarmont emerging from her bedroom at an unusual hour, he made a scene about it.

But in her weariness of his jealousy she grew angry directly.

On several occasions ere that she had behaved rather prettily.