Elizabeth had given expression to the same final decree. There was nothing further to be done but to let the law take its course.
"And I am going to ask for a divorce," said Albert. "And since they wish to compromise her, I shall marry her."
He stopped short without mentioning her name. In his books he had often called attention to the importance of family ties, and, like his master Auguste Comte, to the value of indissoluble marriage: what authority would he have henceforth to defend such historical conclusions? He continued:
"There remains the question of financial arrangements. My wife will naturally undertake the administration of her own fortune. I have already asked our lawyer to make it over to her, and I shall give my children one thousand francs a month until the courts restore them to me—for at least a part of each year."
"If you remarry, the courts will not give them back to you."
Without answering, Albert went to call his mother, who was seated in the adjoining room, quite motionless and discouraged, looking at all the useless preparations of welcome: the only pair of fine sheets, carefully kept since the days of prosperity, the flowers in the vase and the photograph. She rose and followed him obediently like a woman condemned.
"It is time," he said. "Philippe is going to the station with me."
"Very well."
At the moment of leave-taking, struck by her seeming unconsciousness, he whispered to her as he pressed her to his heart:
"I have given you much sorrow, Mother."