“Do you say so?” murmured Génifrède.
“God forgive me!” he replied. “But we are all wretched.”
“You repent, then?” said Génifrède. “Well you may! There are no more such, now you have killed him. You should have repented sooner: it is too late now.”
“I do not repent, Génifrède; but I mourn, my child.”
“There are no more such,” pursued she. “He was gallant.”
“He was.”
“He was all life: there was no deadness, no coldness—he was all life.”
“He was, my child.”
“And such a lover!” she continued, with something of a strange proud smile.
“He was a lover, Génifrède, who made your parents proud.”