“You are mistaken, dear mother,” said she, “I have concealed nothing from you.”
Not quite convinced, Mme. Favoral shook her head.
“Then,” said she, “you will yield.”
“Never!”
“Then there must be some reason you do not tell me.”
“None, except that I do not wish to leave you. Have you ever thought what would be your existence if I were no longer here? Have you ever asked yourself what would become of you, between my father, whose despotism will grow heavier with age, and my brother?”
Always prompt to defend her son:
“Maxence is not bad,” she interrupted: “he will know how to compensate me for the sorrows he has inflicted upon me.”
The young girl made a gesture of doubt:
“I wish it, dear mother,” said she, “with all my heart; but I dare not hope for it. His repentance to-night was great and sincere; but will he remember it to-morrow? Besides, don’t you know that father has fully resolved to separate himself from Maxence? Think of yourself alone here with father.”