She leaned on the arm of her son—from a mother's pride more than from necessity. There was infinite sadness in her smile, and she seemed to ask Jean, at whom she looked while going up the steps, "You forgive me for having gone there? I have suffered."
She was wearing a black satin dress. She had diamonds in her hair, still black, and a collar of blue fox on her shoulders. Jean thought she looked like an unhappy queen, and he admired the elegance of her head, of her walk, and her fine carriage. She was of an old Alsatian family, and he felt himself the son of this woman with a pride he showed only to her.
He accompanied her, giving her his arm all the time so as to have the joy of being nearer to her, and to stop her on nearly every step of the staircase.
"Mamma, I have spent an excellent evening. It would have been delicious if only you had been there! Imagine, Uncle Ulrich came at half-past eight, and he only set out for home at midnight, just now."
Madame Oberlé smiled a melancholy smile and said:
"He never stops as long as that for us. He keeps away."
"You mean to say that he keeps away! I will bring him back to you."
She stopped in her turn, looked at this son, whom she had not seen since the afternoon, and smiled more gaily.
"You love my brother?"
"Better than I used to. I seem to have just discovered him."