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She hid her face in her hands and began to weep. But, amid the silence, the clock struck once … and twice … and yet once more. And Yvonne drew herself up with a jerk:

“There he is!” she cried. “He is coming!… It is three o’clock!… Let us go!…”

She grabbed at her cloak and ran to the door … Velmont barred the way and, in a masterful tone:

“You shall not go!”

“My son…. I want to see him, to take him back….”

“You don’t even know where he is!”

“I want to go.”

“You shall not go!… It would be madness….”

He took her by the wrists. She tried to release herself; and Velmont had to employ a little force to overcome her resistance. In the end, he succeeded in getting her back to the sofa, then in laying her at full length and, at once, without heeding her lamentations, he took the canvas strips and fastened her wrists and ankles:

“Yes,” he said, “It would be madness! Who would have set you free? Who would have opened that door for you? An accomplice? What an argument against you and what a pretty use your husband would make of it with his mother!… And, besides, what’s the good? To run away means accepting divorce … and what might that not lead to?… You must stay here….”