“It—it is your mother!” said Eva, as Ivon came toward her; so astonished by this outburst in a woman whose self-control had been perfect all the years he had known her, that surprise had kept him motionless.
“Yes,” he said, “it is my mother; but so changed, so fearfully transfigured, that I scarcely recognized her. She seemed to threaten you.”
“She did threaten me; her eyes were fierce with hate. What have I done that she should assail me so?”
“What have the angels done? I do not understand this, Eva. It is unlike Mrs. Lambert, who is usually so proud and cold, scarcely deigning to express her own wishes.”
“She heard all we said, and it drove her wild. Oh, her face was terrible!”
“I scarcely knew it. If she heard all, it was the suddenness that overwhelmed her. But she is generous. When you are my wife——”
“Ah!” said Eva, drawing away from him. “How is it possible? I have no right here.”
“Why have you no right, Eva?”
“The poor have no rights in a place like this,” answered the girl, looking wildly around. “I have been dreaming!”
“It will be your fault, and my eternal misfortune, if this dream does not last for life,” said Ivon.