She tried unsuccessfully to smile. Elizabeth continued to hold her hands, not growing weary in observing on the poor, aging face, traces of distress, which seemed living reproaches to her. In spite of her affection, she had for some months misjudged her mother, who was giving her a lesson in endurance, silence, self-denial and resignation. But she did not wish to be resigned. When asked what she thought of doing, she answered:
"I do not know."
"You are still his wife. If he came back to you, would you receive him?"
"I do not think so."
"Well, what are you expecting?"
Elizabeth let her arms fall.
"I am not making any further plans. One day I hope, another, I rebel—or I lose hold of myself. I have not yet chosen my path."
"Dear little girl, there is only one for us. I see it quite clearly now. And I have turned you away from it."
"Oh, it's not you, Mother. But there is another course, that of a new life without any links with the past. I do not wish it. It is of no use to women like us."
"Well?"