"And so papa married an opera-singer? It is quite a romance."
"He did not marry her."
"Not marry her?" said Léonie with white face and great black, wide-open eyes.
"She was married already to one of the singers in the opera, and she left him to live with your father."
Léonie's white lips shaped rather than uttered the question, "What did he do, the husband?"
"He challenged your father, and, though he was so much his inferior, Léon was too generous to hurt his feelings by refusing to fight with him after doing him such an injury. He was so good a swordsman that he easily disarmed him with only a slight wound."
"This is terrible!" said Léonie. "My father such a wicked man!"
"That is not the way the world looked at it. All the men envied Léon, and the women flattered and spoiled him more than ever."
"I hate my father!" cried Léonie with quick, passionate sobs. "No wonder my poor mother died. I shall be her avenger: I feel it."
"You do not know what you are saying. Your mother avenged herself. She deserted him as she deserted her husband, and you too, my poor child, when you were just learning to say 'Mamma.' Poor Léon! he sinned, but he suffered too. Be merciful to him, Léonie, as you pray God to be merciful to you."