When Ferdinand had recovered from the first shock naturally felt on hearing a woman he once adored was no more, when he had acquired composure sufficient to peruse the letter through, indignation kept pace with sorrow.
Claudina's last confession had confirmed the implied guilt frequently insinuated, but of which he never could have thought her capable; he resolved in his mind the whole tenor of her conduct; he saw nothing wrong, nothing reprehensible, in word or action, before their removal to Renaud Castle: There then she must have met with the object that seduced her from her duty to him and herself; but among all his brother's visitors, there was no particular man to whose artifices he could attribute the misfortune that so deeply wounded him. Lost in conjecture, he saw only that the fact was certain, and from Ernest only he could hope to have the mystery elucidated. He grieved for the unhappy Claudina, and from his soul forgave a crime
