But he did not allow her to proceed.
“And how do I know,” he exclaimed, “that he is not trifling with me? If he was sincere, why his reticence and his enigmas? He pretends that I may rely on him, because to serve me is to serve you. What does that mean? What connection is there between your situation and mine, between your enemies and those of my father? And I—I replied to all his questions like a simpleton. Poor fool! But the man who drowns catches at straws; and I am drowning, I am sinking, I am foundering.”
He sank upon a chair, and, hiding his face in his hands,
“Ah, how I do suffer!” he groaned.
Mlle. Lucienne approached him, and in a severe tone, despite her emotion,
“Are you, then, such a coward?” she uttered. “What! at the first misfortune that strikes you,—and this is the first real misfortune of your life, Maxence,—you despair. An obstacle rises, and, instead of gathering all your energy to overcome it, you sit down and weep like a woman. Who, then, is to inspire courage in your mother and in your sister, if you give up so?”
At the sound of these words, uttered by that voice which was all-powerful over his soul, Maxence looked up.
“I thank you, my friend,” he said. “I thank you for reminding me of what I owe to my mother and sister. Poor women! They are wondering, doubtless, what has become of me.”
“You must return to them,” interrupted the girl.
He got up resolutely.