The passionate, lonely heart brooded over every word.

Beatrice dwelt with loving admiration on the calm, grand beauty of the princess, her sweet and gracious manner, her kindly recollection of Dora, and her urgent invitation to them.

Dora read it through calmly, each word stabbing her with cruel pain.

The old, fierce jealousy rose in her heart, crushing every gentle thought.

She tore the letter, so full of Valentine, into a thousand shreds.
"She drew my husband from me," she cried, "with the miserable beauty of her fair face, and now she will win my children." Then across the fierce tempest of jealous anger came one thought like a ray of light.