"All that one must ask of the young is that they act with discretion, so that they can reach the autumn of life without scandals against their names—If the Bon Dieu adds love—then they have been indeed fortunate."
"But Duchesse—with your great heart—have you never loved—?"
Her eyes seemed to grow beautiful and young again—they diffused a fire—.
"Loved—Nicholas—! All women love once in their lives—happy for them if it has not burnt their souls in its passage—Happy if the Bon Dieu has let it merge into love for humanity—" And soft tears dimmed the dark blue brilliancy.
I leaned forward and kissed her hand with deep devotion—then the ancient servitor came in and she was called to a ward—but I left feeling that if there is really some barrier of family between Alathea and me—there would be no use in my appealing to the Duchesse—Sorrows she understands—and war and suffering—and self-sacrifice—Love she understands and passion—and all that appertains thereto—but all these things go to the wall before the conception of the meaning of noblesse oblige which ruled when Adelaide de Mont Orgeuil—wedded the Duc de Courville-Hautevine, in the eighties! The only thing left now was to telephone to Maurice—.
He came in for a few minutes just before dinner—.
He has questioned Alwood Chester of the American Red Cross, who had told him that Miss Sharp had been Miss Sharp always while she worked for them, and that no one knew anything further about her.
Well!—if her father is a convict, and her mother—in a mad house, and her sister consumptive—I still want her for herself—.
Is that true—Could I face disease and insanity coming into my family—?
I don't know—All I know is that I do not believe whatever curse hangs over the rest it has touched her—She is the picture of health and balance and truth—Her every action is noble—and I love her—I love her—there!