“I cannot tell you anything that is not true,—even for your sake,” I said at last.
“No, David.”
“But first, you. How has it gone with you? It has been hard, Bernoline?”
“No, no.”
“That is the truth?”
“Yes, mon ami. It has not been hard. I have found great kindness. I am companion in the family of a true gentlewoman.”
“Bernoline, I cannot bear to think of you—”
“Hush; it is so little when you think of what has come to other women.”
“Bernoline, you do not know how I have fought to keep my promise. I’ve gone by St. Rosa’s Convent a dozen times, and twice I wrote you letters,—only to tear them up.”
“But you won out, mon ami. I knew you would.”