"Do you recollect, madame, that gloomy, frozen silence, against which all our efforts proved unavailing?"
"And that might when, crazy with terror, I ran up-stairs to you, to beseech you not to abandon my son, as if you could have abandoned him."
"Say, madame, is there not a sort of charm in these painful memories, now that we are in perfect security and happiness?"
"Yes, there is a sad charm in them, but how much I prefer certain hopes! So, M. David, I will tell you that I have made many plans to-night."
"Let us hear them, madame."
"There is one, very foolish,—really impossible."
"So much the better, they are usually the most charming."
"When our Frederick enters the Polytechnic School, we must be separated from him. Oh, make yourself easy, I will be brave, on one condition."
"And what is that condition?"
"You are going to laugh at it, because it is so childish, perhaps ridiculous. Ah, well, I wish we could dwell near him. And if I must confess all to you, my desire would be to take lodgings opposite the school, if that is possible. Now you are going to laugh at me."