"No, no, it shall never be said that I allowed myself to be cajoled by the charms and perfidious words of a mere adventuress, and that I was fool enough to give my consent to her marriage with my son."
The hunchback sprang forward with a terrible look at Madame de Senneterre, but, before he could utter a word, Herminie replied, in faltering tones, while big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks:
"Pardon me, madame. Insult finds me speechless and defenceless, especially when it is M. de Senneterre's mother that insults. I have but one favour to ask of you, madame. It is to remember that I not only anticipated this refusal, but accepted it in advance, so it would have been more generous in you not to have come here to crush me with it. What was my crime, madame? Simply to have believed that M. de Senneterre's station in life was as obscure and laborious as my own. But for that, I would have died rather than yielded to such a love."
"What!" exclaimed Madame de Senneterre, "you did not know that my son—"
"M. de Senneterre represented himself to be a man who was obliged to labour hard for his daily bread. I believed him; I loved him,—loved him truly and disinterestedly. When I discovered who he really was, I refused to see him again, for I was resolved that I would never marry him against the wishes of his family. That, madame, is the truth, and the whole truth," added Herminie, in a voice broken with sobs. "This love, for which, thank God, I shall never have to blush, must be sacrificed. I expected it, but I believed I had the right to suffer without the presence of witnesses. I forgive your cruel words, madame. You are a mother, you did not know, perhaps, that I was worthy of your son,—and maternal love is sacred, even if it be in the wrong."
Herminie dried the tears that were streaming down her pale face, then continued, in a weak and faltering voice, for, overcome by this painful scene, she felt that her strength was fast failing her:
"Will you have the goodness to say to M. de Senneterre, madame, that I forgive him the wrong he has, unconsciously, done me. Here, before you—you—his mother—I swear that—I will never see him again,—and you need have no fear of my breaking my word. So, madame, you can leave here reassured and content,—but—but I feel so strangely—M. de Maillefort—come to me—I beg—come—I—"
The poor girl could say no more. Her lips fluttered feebly, and she cast a despairing look at the hunchback, who sprang forward only just in time to receive her almost lifeless form in his arms. He placed her tenderly in an armchair, then, turning to Madame de Senneterre, with a terrible expression on his face, he cried:
"Ah, you shall weep tears of blood for your cruelty here, madame. Go, go, I tell you. Don't you see that she is dying!"
Herminie did, indeed, look as if death had claimed her for his own, with her marble white face, and her head hanging inertly down upon one shoulder. Her forehead, bathed in a cold sweat, was half covered with some soft ringlets of golden hair which had escaped from their confinement, and an occasional tear forced its way through her half closed eyelids, while ever and anon a convulsive shudder shook her entire body.