“I don’t want to read it, my darling. I only want to talk to you about—”
To her great surprise Andrée began to cry.
“Oh, Mother!” she sobbed. “That’s just what I knew you’d do! Talk it over, and talk and talk, and spoil everything.... Why can’t you understand? It’s nothing, just nothing at all, and you want to talk it into something. Why can’t I be let alone? I’m so unhappy!”
“Unhappy? Andrée, why? Tell me! Let me help you!”
“I don’t know why—except that I never have any peace or freedom. It’s disgusting to have to talk about every thought that comes into your head.... How would you like it? How would you like to have to tell exactly how you felt toward everyone and everything?”
Claudine turned away her head.
“I see how you feel,” she said. “It must be disgusting, as you say.... But you’re surely fair-minded enough to see that I must make every possible effort to safeguard you. You are young and inexperienced.”
“When you were my age you were married and had a baby.”
Claudine smiled, one of her rare and enchanting smiles.
“That’s true. I had you.”