"No."
"Yes."
"No. You'll see, later, when you're older."
"I sha'n't grow old, Auntie."
"Oh, child, what do you know, what do you know? How can you tell what you will become, how tragic your life may easily become, if you don't think of it more seriously ... more seriously?"
She rose: an irresistible impulse made her embrace the girl passionately.
Emilie gave a start:
"What are you thinking of, Auntie?... What do you mean?..."
But what was the use of saying anything now of her presentiment, when presentiments always deceive? Constance said nothing more; she did not know indeed what more to say; she merely stared in front of her, strangely, vaguely; and what had shone for a moment was gone.
And she looked deep into Emilie's eyes and saw there only a vision: Paris, a circus, a clown, butterflies, quite fifty or more....