“Of course it was. I knew that only to your lover would you dream of sacrificing your child.”
“Are you mad, Ottilie? How dare you say such a thing to me?”
“Because it is true. Deny that he is your lover, if you can—a fact that everybody knows.”
“I have no wish to deny it. I do love Count Mortimer, and I am proud to say that he loves me.”
“And to please him you will sacrifice your son? Are you proud to say that?”
“There is no question of sacrificing him. What you have told me has put a new complexion on affairs, and it will be necessary to modify any other plans we may have had in view. You are the last person to suggest that I am likely to sacrifice Michael’s happiness, Ottilie. For years I have sacrificed myself in allowing him to spend every spare hour of his time with you, because it seemed to make him happier than keeping him at home.”
“Or because it allowed you to enjoy more of the society of your lover?”
“I do not wish to quarrel with you, Ottilie, but your tone is exceedingly strange.”
“Yes, it is strange, is it not, when my Lida’s happiness is wavering in the balance? I don’t know whether you expect me to acquiesce meekly, Ernestine, when in one moment you spring on me your determination to upset the arrangement which was entered into at your own suggestion, and towards which we have been working ever since. Unfortunately I care more for the broken hearts of those poor children than for the success of Count Mortimer’s projects of self-advertisement.”
“I should be glad if you would remember that you are speaking—as you have mentioned once or twice—of the man I love. As I said just now, I shall tell Count Mortimer what you have told me, and inform him that the original scheme must be carried out.”