"Indeed," said a lady of a certain age, with some dryness, "one need hardly have been so scrupulous with a person who had so little respect for herself."
"I admit," said a very pretty woman seated in the corner of the fireplace, "that it is impossible to justify her conduct. Still, one may suppose that her aversion for a second marriage rested on some powerful and secret motive. The passion of maternity seems to have done the rest, and which of us, when fondling the child who smiles up at us, but can find in our heart some excuse for an error prompted by this feeling?"
"But you must at least admit that it was very hard upon this poor officer?"
"Why, what harm has she done to him?" asked the pretty lady in a careless tone.
"What harm!" cried Léon with some heat. "Is it then nothing for him to be ever pursued by the memory of a charming woman whom he loves for her grace and spirit, the possession of whom caused him such exquisite pleasure, and who now obstinately conceals herself from his sight and his affection—a woman who, apparently, only aroused his passion to forsake him at once, and who only preserves just such relations with him as may keep alive a desire that she never means to gratify? He is a husband and a father, and yet may not know the objects of the most natural of sentiments; he does not even know their whereabouts, though he is followed, found, and disposed of at will. Obligations are forced on him while he, less fortunate than the lowest of men, will never enjoy the reward of that domestic happiness which is open to all except himself."
"Oh, admit there is some exaggeration in all this. What is to prevent him from marrying?"
"But how can he, madame? Even supposing time should at length wear out the deep impression made on him by his transient happiness, can he be said to belong to himself now? As long as she he loves is free, can he cease to be so too? If that odd aversion for a natural tie should pass away, and he could some day obtain the hand he has so long desired, how would he console himself if in the meantime he had disposed of his own?"
"You certainly attribute to your friend very great delicacy of feeling," said the lady, fixing on Léon a glance in which there was both softness and interest.
He was touched, and went on with increasing fervor:
"And then this ring divided between his child and him, is not that too a chain that must hold him forever? No matter in what position he may be placed, his affection and fatherly care may one day be claimed—he belongs henceforth to some one, though no one belongs to him! And as a finishing touch to a unique situation, he can only hope to find his child by losing its mother! The first sight of that beloved object will tell him that one dearer yet is no more; and it is only at the price of a husband's happiness that he can hope for that of a father!"