“You are very much in love with this woman?”
“You see it, father, since she has made me fail in duty toward you, for which I humbly ask your forgiveness to-day.”
My father, no doubt, was not expecting such categorical answers, for he seemed to reflect a moment, and then said to me:
“You have, of course, realized that you can not always live like that?”
“I fear so, father, but I have not realized it.”
“But you must realize,” continued my father, in a dryer tone, “that I, at all events, should not permit it.”
“I have said to myself that as long as I did nothing contrary to the respect which I owe to the traditional probity of the family I could live as I am living, and this has reassured me somewhat in regard to the fears I have had.”
Passions are formidable enemies to sentiment. I was prepared for every struggle, even with my father, in order that I might keep Marguerite.
“Then, the moment is come when you must live otherwise.”
“Why, father?”