M. Wilkie took up his hat, but, though he was longing to depart, embarrassment kept him to the spot. He vaguely felt that he ought not to leave his mother in this style. “I hope I shall soon have some good news to bring you,” he began.
“Before night I shall have left this house,” she answered.
“Of course. But you are going to give me your new address.”
“No.”
“What?—No!”
She shook her head sadly, and in a scarcely audible voice responded: “It is not likely that we shall meet again.”
“And the two millions that I am to turn over to you?”
“Mr. Patterson will collect the money. As for me, say to yourself that I’m dead. You have broken the only link that bound me to life, by proving the futility of the most terrible sacrifices. However, I am a mother, and I forgive you.” Then as he did not move, and as she felt that her strength was deserting her, she dragged herself from the room, murmuring, “Farewell!”