"Oh, it is infamous," cried Marthe, after her eyes had taken in the purport of the following lines:
"My dear Lise,—You won't blame me for following your example, that is, acting as a free agent. I am glad that your son has recovered his health, and that while you were away nothing serious has happened to your daughter, who also is your child. It might have been otherwise; but doubtless the son of a prince fills a greater space in his mother's heart than the daughter of a simple artist like me. I am about to start for Rome where a commission I have to execute will detain me for a pretty long time. I hope you will be so good as to send me news there, addressing to the Villa Medici, of yourself and Marie."
"No, it is not infamous," murmured Mme. Meyrin, "it was fated, and, on the part of God, it is justice. Twice married, I have now no husband. The mother of three children, all I have with me is the one in the cradle there. Dumesnil and you are the only friends I have left now."
"Lise, my dear Lise," said Mme. Daubrel.
"Listen to me, dear friend," continued the unhappy woman, in feverish excitement. "I am sure that soon you will have to watch by my pillow. Promise that you will hide my condition from everybody, above all from Monsieur Meyrin, and from my mother herself, until all hope is gone."
"I promise readily," replied Marthe, "so sure am I that a few days' rest will bring you calmness and health."
Mme. Daubrel was mistaken. In less than a week Mme. Meyrin, attacked by a severe fever, had to take to her bed, and the doctors summoned to a consultation regarded her state as critical. They were in doubt only about the cause of the malady. They did not guess that the innocent caresses of her little daughter were insufficient for the poor, despairing creature who was dying of unsatiated maternal love.
The ex-Princess Olsdorf, so courted of old, had near her only an old actor and Mme. Daubrel, whose social position we must now sketch more completely than we have yet done.
CHAPTER VII.
MADAME DAUBREL'S STORY.
At the time of his marriage with Mlle. Marthe Percier, M. Raymond Daubrel was nearly forty years old. His wife, on the contrary, was barely twenty.