“I do conceal from myself how regrettable such a situation is. You have no one else to blame for it but your two selves, and your secret hostility towards me.... Everything has an ending, even patience.... And for the last six months, you have strangely overtaxed mine!”
He disappeared. Then, as if he wished to barricade himself against any attempt at conciliation, his key turned twice in the key-hole. M. Raindal had locked himself up.
“Well, my poor child!” Mme. Raindal whispered, her eyes shining with tears.
Either because she was afraid of being heard or because she instinctively imitated the hollow voice of her father, Thérèse replied quietly:
“What can I say, mother!... It is lamentable.... I did think that the evil had gone so far.... Our intervention has come too late!”
“I know it, dear,” the old lady sighed.
Thérèse remained silent, leaning on the table, in an attitude of angry reverie.
“What is to become of us?” Mme. Raindal went on, in a kind tone. “If we shut our eyes, that wicked woman will take him away from us. If we cross him, he will leave us. And we are alone, absolutely alone, without anyone to advise us and defend us....”
“Possibly not!” the young girl replied, looking up.
“Have you anyone in mind?”