Instead of impatience of Marie's laxity of judgment, what he had been fiercely conscious of for days was jealousy of Paul de Chateauvieux--jealousy of his opportunities, his influence, his relation towards that keen sweet nature.

That, too, had been one of his dreams of the future,--the dream of tutoring and training her young unformed intelligence.

He had done something towards it; he had, as it were, touched the spring which had set free all this new and unexpected store of power.

But, if he had planted, others had watered, and others would reap.

In this great crisis of her fortunes he had been nothing to her.