Honorine received her advances gratefully. Being without experience and entirely unacquainted with business, she was in danger of being deprived of the small property which her husband had left her, and which was claimed by collateral relations. But Madame Montoni had strength, courage and resolution; she took all the necessary steps, and the young widow was enabled to enjoy in peace the two thousand francs a year which her husband had left her.
As for Madame Montoni herself, she supported herself and her child with her hands. She made those pretty pieces of fancy work which bring in so little, and require so much time and care. Luckily she was very skilful. But she often passed whole nights over her embroidery frame, in order that she might buy a new dress for her daughter.
Honorine had tried to assist her new friend a little; but Madame Montoni was proud; she would accept nothing from her to whom she had, however, rendered material service.
Incessant toil exhausts vitality. Moreover, Agathe's mother had in the depths of her heart a mortal sorrow which was crushing her; she had confided it to Honorine, who could only weep with her. There are sorrows which admit of no consolation.
Little Agathe used often to ask her mother:
"Why don't we ever see papa? what can have become of him? When I was a little girl, I remember he used to come to see me often; he used to take me out to ride and to dine at restaurants; you used to be very bright then, mamma; you didn't work all day long; and then papa always brought me nice presents, and you too; and he used to kiss me a lot and tell me he loved me with all his heart. And then he stopped coming all of a sudden, and then you cried every day, yes, every day.—Is my papa dead?"
When Madame Montoni heard that question she always wept and strained the child to her heart as she replied:
"Alas! dear child! I don't know what to tell you! I have no idea what has become of your father; I do not know if he still lives, and that is the cause of this grief that is wearing my life away!—Adhémar loved me so dearly! and he adored you! How can I believe that he could have determined to abandon us for no reason whatever?—that he, who promised me such a lovely future,—certain happiness—would have left us suddenly without means, without resource, without support—oh, no! no! he would not have done that! Your father must be dead! My Adhémar certainly has ceased to live, since we are so unhappy!"
"How long ago did you last see him?" inquired Honorine one day, when she had become the confidante of the mother and daughter.
"Alas! my Agathe was just six years old when her father came to see us the last time."