The woman had ceased to weep.
When the sobbing stopped, the woman said: "Who is she? Do I know her? Do I know even her name?"
"All that is my secret, mother. I will not say any more of her but that I am accustomed to succeed, and I will succeed here. I will keep the secret of her name in my heart to goad me on. I am accustomed to succeed. Rest assured I will succeed in this. We will say no more of it. Let it be a forbidden subject between us until I speak of it again; until, perhaps, I bring her to you."
"As you will, Oscar. Keep your secret. I can trust and wait."
"It is best. I feel better already. That storm has cleared the air. I was excited. I have reason to be excited to-day. At this moment--it is now just twelve o'clock--at this moment I am either succeeding or failing in one of my most important aims."
"Just now, Oscar. Do you mean here?"
"No, not here. In London. You do not believe in magic, mother?"
"Surely not. What do you mean? You do not believe in anything so foolish?"
"Or in clairvoyance or spectres, mother?"
"No, my child. Nor you, I hope. That is, I do not believe in all the tales I hear from simple folk."