"Why, what will happen?"
"You will see."
"Come, mother, don't let us talk in enigmas. What are you imagining? By what right do you interfere in what concerns me alone?"
"What I imagine, or rather what I am certain of, I will not say, out of respect to you. My interference is a fulfillment of my duty. After rearing you with a view to create for you a future according to my ambition, after having made a princess of you, I will not suffer you to ruin everything on account of a ridiculous caprice."
Lise Olsdorf could not master a thrill of anger and pain. The glitter in her great eyes told her mother that she had overshot the mark. A ridiculous caprice, this ungovernable passion that had thrown her into Paul Meyrin's arms!
She recovered herself somewhat, however, and replied bitterly:
"Yes, that is true. You have made a princess of me, and, as you say—to satisfy your ambition. You would have acted more wisely if you had made me a happy woman. You forced me to marry a man who did not love me, and whom I did not and could not love. Is it my fault if the blood of an artiste runs in my veins?"
"Well—of an artiste?" said Mme. Podoi, haughtily.
"Bah! As if these tastes and these aspirations were not derived from yourself!"
The ex-comédienne at these words started indignantly.