At that the sweet old woman wished to take the part of her absent son—to say that if he had taken the wrong course, and allowed himself to be led away by some one, he could not have counted on any gain in doing so, and must have been moved by the most unselfish motives—but her tears prevented her, and still she could not speak.
"Why should we continue to think of him if he never thinks of us—of either of us?" asked the Consul-General.
He was calmer now, and was speaking with less anger.
"Was he thinking of you when he took the step which broke up your health like this? Was he thinking of me when he took the side of my enemies—of one of my enemies, at all events—perhaps the worst of them—and left me to the mercy of ... in my old age, too—a childless man?"
There was a moment in which nothing was spoken, and then in a voice that quivered perceptibly the Consul-General said—
"Let us trifle with ourselves no longer, Janet. Our son has gone. He has abandoned us. We have to think no more about him."
After that there was a long silence, during which the Consul-General sat with his head down and his eyes tightly closed. Then a voice came softly from the bed.
"John!"
"Well?"
"It is harder for you, dear."