"What is it you want me to do? Not take her with me, not have her to live with me? I could not, Henry, I could not. Even if I could overcome my horror of her—poor innocent child, for it is not her fault she is as she is—I have no right to visit her on Edmund when we are married. Yes, yes—you must see that we shall be separated. Angele and her mother—oh! it is not possible—yet I must call her so since you say it, your wife, Henry, the Archambault girl, will live here. They will be comfortable, and if we do well where we are going, if Edmund comes into his money——"
Clairville interrupted her.
"It is of him, too, Hawtree, that I would speak. I fear, I fear—he is not what he should be, to be your husband, my poor Pauline. His talk—he has told me much of his past, of women, other women. Pauline—he has loved in many places."
"Yes, but I was the last—and best!" broke from Miss Clairville in a burst of self-pity. Her eager accents lent pathos to the triumphant declaration and she fancied the priest laughing in his corner! the doctor gave a snort of ridicule and even the lips of the impassive nurse seemed to contract with a contemptuous smile.
"He tells you so, he tells you so. Well, may it be so then, and Heaven bless you, Pauline. If I—if I——" his lean hand moved jerkily; it wandered in search of her head, but instead of those dark locks of hair it fell on the back of a cat. Pauline was swayed by extraordinary and clashing emotions. He—her hated and despised brother—was trying to bless her, to lay unsanctified and sinful yet yearning hands upon her, and it was a blow to her pride to learn forbearance in such a school and from such a teacher. But he had spoken almost his last words. He collapsed, groaning, and the doctor and Mme. Poussette each passed an arm under him. Father Rielle appeared at the bedside with the sacrament.
"Not for a minute or two," said Dr. Renaud. "He is still worried in his mind. It is you, mademoiselle, always you. He is uneasy about the child. I know what he wishes; that you will be friendly with her, treat her as your own blood, stay here with her, it may be, for a season. Promise, mademoiselle, and quickly."
"I cannot! I cannot!"
"Nonsense! Promise—and at once."
Father Rielle whispered in her ear: "Promise, my daughter."
"It will be useless. I should not keep such a promise."