“Really!” said she, as she returned the letter, “Léon is not perhaps altogether wrong——”
But Madame Dambreville at once began to praise up the widow—a woman scarcely thirty-five years old, most accomplished and sufficiently rich, who would make a Minister of her husband, she was so active. In short, she had kept her promises, she had found a fine match for Léon; whatever had he to be angry about? And, without waiting for a reply, making up her mind with a nervous start, she named Raymonde, her niece. Really, now, was it possible? a chit of sixteen, a young savage who knew nothing of life!
“Why not?” Madame Josserand kept repeating at each interrogation, “why not, if he loves her?”
No! no! he did not love her—he could not love her! Madame Dambreville struggled, and gradually abandoned herself.
“Come,” cried she, “I only ask him for a little gratitude. It’s I who have made him, it’s thanks to me that he is an auditor, and he will receive a higher appointment on his wedding day. Madame, I implore you, tell him to return to me, tell him to do me that pleasure. I appeal to his heart, to your motherly heart, yes, to all that is noble in your nature——”
She clasped her hands, her words became inarticulate. A pause ensued, during which they were standing face to face. Then suddenly she burst out into the most bitter sobs, vanquished, and no longer mistress of herself.
“Not with Raymonde,” stuttered she, “oh! no, not with Raymonde!”
“Keep quiet, my dear, you make me quite ashamed,” replied Madame Josserand, angrily. “I have daughters who might hear you. I know nothing, and I don’t wish to know anything. If you have affairs with my son, you must settle them together. I will never place myself in a questionable position.”
Yet she loaded her with advice. At her age, one should resign oneself to the inevitable.
“Just think, dear friend, he is not yet thirty. I should be grieved to appear unkind, but you might be his mother. Oh, he knows what he owes you, and I myself am filled with gratitude. You will remain his guardian angel. Only, when a thing is ended, it is ended. You could not possibly have hoped to have kept him always!”