She was standing near the bed of the distracted Yvette, who wanted to cry out "Help," to escape. Yvette wept aloud, like children who are whipped. The Marquise was silent and looked at her daughter, and, seeing her overwhelmed with despair, felt, herself, the pangs of grief, remorse, tenderness, and pity, and throwing herself upon the bed with open arms, she also began to sob and stammered:
"My poor little girl, my poor little girl, if you knew, how you were hurting me." And they wept together, a long while.
Then the Marquise, in whom grief could not long endure, softly rose, and gently said:
"Come, darling, it is unavoidable; what would you have? Nothing can be changed now. We must take life as it comes to us."
Yvette continued to weep. The blow had been too harsh and too unexpected to permit her to reflect and to recover at once.
Her mother resumed: "Now, get up and come down to breakfast, so that no one will notice anything."
The young girl shook her head as if to say, "No," without being able to speak. Then she said, with a slow voice full of sobs:
"No, mamma, you know what I said, I won't alter my determination. I shall not leave my room till they have gone. I never want to see one of those people again, never, never. If they come back, you will see no more of me."
The Marquise had dried her eyes, and wearied with emotion, she murmured:
"Come, reflect, be reasonable."