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 hoped that Joseph would become her benefactor, that he would make clear to her the problems of life, and alas—he had become the innocent cause of her ruin. How, thought she, will the Count justify himself when the Emperor asks him why he banished me to the convent? Well she knew that he would ask about her, that he would not forget her very soon, for she also had noticed what her father noticed—she knew how deeply she had impressed him. To justify himself her father would undoubtedly tell him that she had committed something terrible, for which even the Emperor would dislike her and cease to think kindly of her. How often her father had reproached her for thinking that something was faulty or wrong! The whole world was faulty and wrong. It was not the skillful work of a kind Creator; it was the imperfect production of some malicious being, who now mocked her misery and pain. Father’s love, mother’s care, truth, honor, sincerity, all were fables, lies. She had always suspected it, but did not know that she would