He stopped like a man who had been struck, straightened, and stared at her as though he had not taken her meaning. Then he swung on me.
“Your mother is in New Orleans,” I said. “I would have told you in Louisville had you given me the chance.”
“It is an interesting piece of news, David,” he answered, “which you might have spared me. Mrs. Temple did not think herself necessary to my welfare when I was young, and now I have learned to live without her.”
“Is there no such thing as expiation, Monsieur?” said the Vicomtesse.
“Madame,” he said, “she made me what I am, and when I might have redeemed myself she came between me and happiness.”
“Monsieur,” said the Vicomtesse, “have you ever considered her sufferings?”
He looked at the Vicomtesse with a new interest. She was not so far beyond his experience as mine.
“Her sufferings?” he repeated, and smiled.
“Madame la Vicomtesse should know them,” I interrupted; and without heeding her glance of protest I continued, “It is she who has cared for Mrs. Temple.”
“You, Madame!” he exclaimed.