It was her whole heart crying out, but madame looked and listened coldly.
“My children must not be sacrificed,” she said, folding her hands inexorably.
There was a little silence. Madame glanced at Thérèse from under her eyelids; the girl had recovered herself, and was standing motionless, her eyes on the ground, and a red flush on her cheek. Either her pride had come to her aid, or she was making a desperate resolution. Madame thought it was time to waver.
“If, indeed—” she said, slowly. “But no.”
“If what, madame?”
“You have had a grand education, without doubt, mademoiselle?”
“I used to learn a great deal. I do not know that it was any good,” said Thérèse, wearily.
“I am in treaty with an admirable instructress for Octavie and Adolphe. It would be an infinite loss to them: still—”
“Do you mean that I could teach them?” said Thérèse, brightening up and looking delighted.
“It is almost wrong of me,” madame declared, sighing. “I do not know what my husband will say to my weakness.”