"I won't shut up, and I won't keep quiet." Madame's blood was warming. The sensation was as pleasant as it was unusual. "I will keep quiet for myself. I won't for Élise."
"Élise! Élise! Ain't I do all right by Élise?" Pierre asked, aggressively. "She have plenty to eat, plenty to wear, you tek good care of her. Don't I tek good care, also? Me? Pierre? She mek no complain, heh?"
"That isn't what her father wanted, and it isn't what you promised him."
Pierre looked thoughtful; his face softened slightly.
"We have no children, you and me. We have honly Élise, one li'l girl, la bonne Élise. You wan' mek me give up la bonne Élise? P'quoi?" His face blazed again as he looked up wrathfully. "You wan' mek her go to school! P'quoi? So she learn mek teedle, teedle on ze piano? So she learn speak gran'? So she tink of me, Pierre, one li'l Frenchmens, not good enough for her, for mek her shame wiz her gran' friends? Heh? Who mek ze care for ze li'l babby? Who mek her grow up strong? Heh? You mek her go school. You mek ze gran' dam-zelle. You mek her go back to her pip'l. You mek me, Pierre, you, grow hol' wiz noddings? Hall ze res' ze time wiz no li'l Élise? How you like li'l Élise go away and mek ze marry, and w'en she have li'l children, she say to her li'l children, 'Mes enfants, voila! Pierre and Madame, très bon Pierre and Madame,' and les petits enfants mek big eyes at Pierre and Madame and li'l Élise? She say, 'Pauvres enfants, Pierre and Madame will not hurt you. Bon Pierre! Bonne Madame!'" Pierre made a gesture of deprecating pity.
Madame was touched to the quick. Starting tears dimmed the heavy eyes. Had she not thought of all this a thousand times? If Pierre cared so much for li'l Élise how much more reason had she to care? Li'l Élise had been the only bright spot in her dreary life, yet she was firm. Élise had been very dear to her in the past, but her duty was plain. Her voice was gentler.
"Élise is not ours, Pierre. It is harder to do now what we ought to have done long ago."
Pierre rose and walked excitedly back and forth. He was speaking half to himself, half to Madame.
"Sixtin year 'go li'l Élise mammy die. Sixtin year! She no say, 'Madame Marie, tek my li'l babby back Eas' to my friend, hein? No. She say, 'Madame Marie, my poor li'l babby ain' got no mammy no mo'. Tek good care my poor li'l babby.' Then she go die. We mek good care of ze li'l Élise, me and you, heh? We sen' away Élise? Sacré non! Nevaire!" Pierre stopped, and looked fiercely at Madame.
"Yes," answered Madame. "Her mammy asked me to care for her little baby, but it was for her father. When her father died he made you promise to give her to her friends. Don't I know how hard it is?" Her tears were flowing freely now. "Every year we said, 'She is yet too young to go. Next year we will keep our promise,' and next year she was dearer to us. And now she is sixteen. She must go."