"Does he look like his father?"
"Very much."
"And don't you think he has a look of my husband?"
"Oh! not the slightest!"
"That's strange; it impressed me at once. His name is Frédéric, too, the dear child; I believe that I love him the more for that."
As she spoke, Constance took the child in her arms; Sister Anne watched her, deeply moved, and Dubourg turned his face away to conceal the sensations aroused by that scene.
During the rest of the day, Dubourg cudgelled his brain to think how he could bring about Sister Anne's departure from Madame de Montreville's house, but he could not decide upon any plan. How was he to remove her from a luxurious home, where the most affectionate attentions were lavished upon her, and where her son was overwhelmed with caresses? Would not Sister Anne, far from consenting to such a plan, refuse to see therein anything more than shocking ingratitude, of which her loving, grateful heart was utterly incapable? To tell her that Constance's husband was her seducer would not avail to induce her to go away, for her intense longing to see Frédéric would prevail in her heart over every other consideration. She conceived herself to be united to her lover by the oaths they had exchanged; could she imagine that another woman had rights, more sacred at least, if not more equitable, than her own?
Dubourg dared not risk that method, and he tormented himself in vain to find another. At last he went to Ménard, and said to him:
"Well, have you thought of any expedient to induce Sister Anne to leave this house?"
And Ménard, after taking a pinch of snuff and reflecting for five minutes, led Dubourg into a corner and replied in an undertone: