“See whether you can find anything else to read to me, darling.”
Berthe again made a search; and farther down among the reports of criminal cases, she read:
“'Gloomy Drama. A shop girl, no longer young, allowed herself to be led astray by a young man. Then, to avenge herself on her lover, whose heart proved fickle, she shot him with a revolver. The unhappy man is maimed for life. The jury, all men of moral character, condoning the illicit love of the murderess, honorably acquitted her.'”
This time the old grandmother appeared quite shocked, and, in a trembling voice, she said:
“Why, you people are mad nowadays. You are mad! The good God has given you love, the only enchantment in life. Man has added to this gallantry the only distraction of our dull hours, and here you are mixing up with it vitriol and revolvers, as if one were to put mud into a flagon of Spanish wine.”
Berthe did not seem to understand her grandmother's indignation.
“But, grandmamma, this woman avenged herself. Remember she was married, and her husband deceived her.”
The grandmother gave a start.
“What ideas have they been filling your head with, you young girls of today?”
Berthe replied: