"Do you think that it is not painful for me?"
She knew his grief and bent farther toward him. Then he took her in his arms.
"Mother ... one may make mistakes in love, may love many times, but one has only one mother. I dare not take theirs from them."
"Marie Louise, Philippe ..." said Mme. Derize simply, relying on the power of those two names.
In his turn, he got up to free himself from the motherly embrace.
"Ah, do not take away my strength. I need it, I assure you."
"You would need less to come back to us."
She insisted, she put so much warmth into her voice, she held out her arms, as if to grasp hold of the victory. Fanchette who had come to take away her tray, stood at the threshold, not knowing whether to enter the room or to go back, and she waited in suspense at these effusions. He knew very well that any argument was quite useless, and he had but timidly to express one short sentence, in order to indicate his mother's failure:
"You do not know her. I love her."
Her name had not yet been mentioned. No doubt she would never be discussed, for the mere reminder of her existence separated them. Mme. Derize said no more: what could she answer? In naming the children she had hoped to overcome every obstacle, and the unknown obstacle persisted with all its force.