“I do not see how to ascend the mountain could have added to it, certainly.”
“Don’t you? But there is money in fame, let me tell you, even if it is achieved ultimately through a book. As for you, you may ascend Mont Blanc, and nobody will believe it, because they will have to take your word, which is nothing.”
“They will take my word, nevertheless.”
“They will be more credulous, then, than I. I have long lost faith in it. And if I still doubted, there is that poor sick boy at home to confirm me. By this time, if you had done as you promised, not fifty di Roccos could have equalled him in reputation.”
“Is he very ill, Martha?”
“He wrings my heart. Why are you so strong, Jacques, and so honest and so resolute? I cannot conceive my father parting us at a blow. And yet I am a dutiful daughter too. I think we love weak men like mothers. I am glad you are not weak, Jacques.”
“So am I. So shall your father be some day.”
“You must learn modesty, Jacques. Poor M. Saint-Péray is a model of it.”
“And he has been jilted.”
“So he has; that is the truth. He still sits as if stunned. I don’t know what will happen when he recovers himself. Jacques, for pity’s sake watch him when that happens—for pity’s sake, Jacques.”