"Is this beyond doubt, sir?"
"It is," replied M. Van Amberg: "I never accuse without certainty."
There was a moment's silence. M. Van Amberg again spoke.
"You will lock Christine in her room, and bring me the key. She will have time to reflect, and I trust reflection will be of service to her; in a prolonged seclusion she will lose that love of motion and liberty which leads her into harm; the silence of complete solitude will allay the tumult of her thoughts. None shall enter her room, save Gothon, who shall take her her meals, and return me the key. This is what I have decided upon as proper."
Madame Van Amberg's lips opened several times to speak, but her courage failed her. At last she advanced a pace or two.
"But I, sir, I," said she in a stifled voice, "I am to see my child!"
"I said no one," replied M. Van Amberg.
"But she will despair, if none sustain her. I will be severe with her; you may be assured I will! Let me see her, if only once a-day. She may fall ill of grief, and who will know it? Gothon dislikes her. For pity's sake, let me see Christine! For a minute only, a single minute."
M. Van Amberg once more stood still, and fixed upon his wife a look that made her stagger. "Not another word!" he said. "I allow no discussion, madam. No one shall see Christine; do you hear?"