She comes to see me frequently now, and always arrives panting, loaded down with luscious fruit or bottles of golden wine "from your father." When she prolongs her stay after dinner too late to return home that night, I give my room up to her. You can tell—poor mother—that her visits are undertaken for duty's sake—pilgrimages on which she never fares forth without a preliminary struggle: "That child—you can't leave her all alone—you've got to be sorry for her."
When I opened the door for her this evening, I could see there was something on her mind. Her face was drawn, and contrary to her wont she kissed me two or three times. Was there going to be a battle?
Dinner was over, but I still waited.
"Oh, by the way, my dear, this idea of yours—your plan to go away—it isn't serious, is it? How about your position? Are you really going to carry things to such extremes? Your obstinacy is very annoying. What whimsies you used to have when you were a young girl, that faddy notion about earning your own living ... and marrying against our will—yes, against our will.... Your poor husband is dead; so you've paid, and your father and I are willing to let bygones be bygones. If you come and live with us, you know you'll lead a nice quiet life and have everything you need. Your room will be kept in order for you, I will help you bring up the boy, you will be able to go out as much as you want to. We will give you perfect freedom.... And you mustn't forget you still have a future, you're young.... Why don't you say something? Am I an enemy? Am I not considering your good?"
My mother floundered for more arguments. So to avoid idle discussion I threw my arms around her neck.
She smiled a good full smile, thinking the battle was won and everything was settled without much difficulty.... Now that she was satisfied, her best arguments came crowding: she had known from the start that I would agree with her.
"You haven't only just yourself to consider, you see. When a woman has a child, she doesn't do any and everything she feels like doing."
Now I had to explain!
"Mamma, dear...."
I was biting my lips and probably wore the same obstinate look I did as a little girl, because she pushed me away and her eyes flashed.