The generous girl was right. She knew her uncle’s heart.
After having sacrificed her husband to her mother, Mme. Fauvel was about to immolate her husband and children for Raoul.
As a general thing, a first fault draws many others in its train. As an impalpable flake is the beginning of an avalanche, so an imprudence is often the prelude to a great crime.
To false situations there is but one safe issue: truth.
Mme. Fauvel’s resistance grew weaker and more faint, as her niece pointed out the line for her to pursue: the path of wifely duty.
“But,” she faintly argued, “I cannot accept your sacrifice. What sort of a life will you lead with this man?”
“We can hope for the best,” replied Madeleine with a cheerfulness she was far from feeling; “he loves me, he says; perhaps he will be kind to me.”
“Ah, if I only knew where to obtain money! It is money that the grasping man wants; money alone will satisfy him.”
“Does he not want it for Raoul? Has not Raoul, by his extravagant follies, dug an abyss which must be bridged over by money? If I could only believe M. de Clameran!”
Mme. Fauvel looked at her niece with bewildered curiosity.