"Ungrateful child! Have I ever reproached you?"
"Never. And therefore with your blessing, and with your loved name on his lips, your Raoul will—die!"
"Die? You?"
"Yes, mother: honor bids it. I am condemned by inexorable judges—my will and my conscience."
An hour earlier Madame Fauvel would have sworn that Raoul had made her suffer all that a woman could endure; and now he had brought her a new grief so acute that the former ones seemed naught in comparison.
"What have you done?" she stammered.
"Money was intrusted to me. I played, and lost it."
"Was it a large amount?"
"No, but neither you nor I can replace it. Poor mother, have I not taken everything from you? Haven't you given me your last jewel?"
"But M. De Clameran is rich; he has put his fortune at my disposal. I will order the carriage and go to him."