Madame Dornthal brushed back Clement's hair with her hand, and looked him in the face, as we know she loved to do when moved to unusual tenderness towards him, then slowly said:
“Alone to St. Petersburg with Gabrielle! Have you reflected on this, Clement?”
Clement's face slightly flushed, but his eyes met his mother's with a beautiful expression of candor and purity. “Mother,” said he, “Gabrielle looks upon me as a brother. As for me”—he hesitated a moment and turned pale, but continued in a firm tone—“as for me, I regard her now as the wife of another. I hope you do not think it possible I can ever forget it!”
Madame Dornthal's eyes filled with tears, and for a moment she looked at her son silently. Never had she loved him so much! Never had she so fully comprehended how worthy of affection he was! But the hour had come—perhaps the only period in life when the most passionate maternal love is powerless, and can do nothing, absolutely nothing, to comfort her suffering child!
She realized this; she felt she must respect her son's secret sorrow, and repress the impulse of her own affection. Neither compassion nor sympathy could be of any avail at such a time. She therefore refrained with the sure instinct of a responsive heart, and Clement's agitation soon subsided. He resumed in a calm tone:
“If you think it indispensable on her account, or on account of others, that a third person should go with us, then, mother, we will try to find some one.”
“Ah!” said Madame Dornthal, “if a cherished and paramount obligation did not retain me here, you would not have far to go for some one.”
Clement took his mother's hand and kissed it. “I thought so,” said he, smiling. Then he continued: “We shall find some one, you may be sure, if necessary. For the moment we will leave it; we have something else to do.” And so to one after another the astonishing news was announced by him and his mother: first to the professor, and then to all the other members of the family. We will not describe their feelings individually, we will not tell how many tears were shed, what a succession of emotions poor Fleurange had to pass through that day. We will only say that, on the whole, they were all much more affected than surprised. So pure an atmosphere pervaded this unpretending household that everything beautiful and noble was at once perceived and comprehended without difficulty. To lose this charming sister, who had grown dearer and dearer, was too painful to be concealed, but Madame Dornthal's daughters, like her, were ready for any sacrifice. Therefore the young girl felt that they entered into her feelings, and would regret, without blaming her. This sympathy not only increased her affection for those she was to leave, but gave great support to her courage.
The only person who did not at first participate in this general heroism was Mademoiselle Josephine. The knowledge of Fleurange's resolution threw her into a state of stupefaction that would have been comical under any other circumstances. Her eyes wandered from one to another with a perplexed expression of consternation, as if imploring an explanation which would enable her to comprehend so extraordinary a fact. When, at her usual time, she joined the family circle in the evening, she was still speechless. She took her place among them, knitting-work in hand, without saying a word or looking at any one.
The professor, cautiously informed of this new separation, heard it with resignation—a feeling that had grown [pg 307] upon him with respect to everything, in consequence of the increasing conviction that he had a long time to suffer and should never be well. Fleurange was now sitting near him. Madame Dornthal and her daughters were at work beside the table where sat the silent Josephine. Clement alone sat apart, talking in a low tone with his little sister on his knee. She was in her turn asking an explanation which no one had thought of giving her. While he was replying in a whisper, Frida's large eyes opened to their utmost extent, her little mouth contracted, and a flood of tears inundated her face; then she threw both her arms around her brother's neck, and said in broken accents: