Deschartres was saved, and Aurore had only availed herself of the first of a Frenchwoman's privileges. Nor will we reckon with her too harshly for this lie, so benevolent in intention, so merciful in effect. A lie sometimes seems the only refuge of the oppressed; but there is always something better than a lie, if we could only find it out. Here is her account of the scene itself:—
"To have gone through a series of lies and of false explanations would not, perhaps, have been possible for me. But from the moment that it was only necessary to persist in a 'yes' to save Deschartres, I thought that I ought not to hesitate. My mother insisted:—
"'If M. Deschartres has paid you eighteen thousand francs, we can easily find it out. You would not give your word of honor?'
"I felt a shudder, and I saw Deschartres ready to speak out.
"'I would give it!' I cried out
"'Give it, then,' said my aunt.
"'No, Mademoiselle,' said my mother's lawyer, 'don't give it.'
"'She shall give it!' cried my mother, to whom I could scarcely pardon this infliction of torture.
"'I give it,' I replied;' and God is with me against you in this matter.'
"'She has lied! she lies!' cried my mother. 'A bigot, a _philosophailleuse.' She is lying and defrauding herself.'