"Having heard of your relative's arrival, I surmised that, possibly, grave questions kept Victorin closeted with Tetrik during the night. That is the theory I threw out to Captain Marion, and told him that perhaps you would be ready to hear the report he has for your son."
Victoria remained silent for a moment; she then dropped her needlework on her lap, raised her head and resumed in a tone of suppressed grief:
"Victorin has vices—his vices are smothering his good parts. Moths destroy the best of grain."
"Have confidence and hope—age will mature him."
"During the last two years his vices grow upon him, his good parts decline."
"His bravery, his generosity, his frankness have not degenerated."
"His bravery no longer is the calm and provident bravery that becomes a general—it is becoming blind—headless. His generosity no longer distinguishes between the worthy and the unworthy. His reasoning powers decline—wine and debauchery are killing him. By Hesus! A drunkard and a debauché! He, my son! One of the chiefs of Gaul, free to-day and, perhaps, to-morrow, matchless among nations. Schanvoch, I am an unfortunate mother!"
"Victorin loves me—I shall reprove him severely."
"Do you imagine that your remonstrances will accomplish what the prayers of his own mother have failed to do? Of the mother who never left his side all his life, following him with the army, often even into battle? Schanvoch, Hesus punishes me—I have been too proud of my son!"
"And what mother would not have been proud of him the day when a whole valiant army, of its own free choice, acclaimed as its chief the general of twenty years of age, behind whom they saw—you, his mother!"