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Mathilde's healthy mental balance was disturbed. This young and healthy woman, with her rather vulgar aspirations, had fallen in love with him because her nature expected to achieve a sympathetic satisfaction through his both in body and soul; her love had faltered when she gradually perceived that she was sharing him with so many who seemed to understand him better, when she suddenly saw, in a refinement of her inner perception, that he was really escaping her. She had enough common-sense to understand and to appreciate that he wanted her happiness above all things, that he was now devoting himself to her entirely, that he had forced their present life at the Hague into a direction which was hers, not his. Because of this, she was filled with a surprised gratitude; and yet this gratitude depressed her. The years spent at Driebergen amidst her husband's family had subdued her to a mere nervous susceptibility; and now she sought and wept again and did not know what she sought nor why she wept. Fits of temper followed on fits of weakness and fits of discouragement. In the question which she no longer put to Addie, but which nevertheless constantly arose in her heart—the question whether he really loved her—lay hidden a second question, whether she really loved him. At such times she thought that, even though her love was diminished, they would still be happy, now, at the Hague, and make her life a simple life, the aftermath of physical love. But she saw him grow