breast as a penitent at the confessional, and flushed
and excited, coming toward the bed, she continued: "So much the
worse. A pretty girl must live or suffer--she has no choice!" Then
returning to her former idea: "Much they deny themselves, your
'honest women.' They are worse, because nothing compels them. They
have money to live on and amuse themselves, and they choose vicious
lives of their own accord. They are the bad ones in reality."

She was standing near the bed of the distracted Yvette, who wanted
to cry out "Help," to escape. Yvette wept aloud, like children who
are whipped. The Marquise was silent and looked at her daughter,
and, seeing her overwhelmed with despair, felt, herself, the pangs
of grief, remorse, tenderness, and pity, and throwing herself upon
the bed with open arms, she also began to sob and stammered:

"My poor little girl, my poor little girl, if you knew, how you were
hurting me." And they wept together, a long while.

Then the Marquise, in whom grief could not long endure, softly rose,
and gently said:

"Come, darling, it is unavoidable; what would you have? Nothing can
be changed now. We must take life as it comes to us."

Yvette continued to weep. The blow had been too harsh and too
unexpected to permit her to reflect and to recover at once.

Her mother resumed: "Now, get up and come down to breakfast, so that
no one will notice anything."

The young girl shook her head as if to say, "No," without being able
to speak. Then she said, with a slow voice full of sobs:

"No, mamma, you know what I said, I won't alter my determination. I
shall not leave my room till they have gone. I never want to see one
of those people again, never, never. If they come back, you will see
no more of me."

The Marquise had dried her eyes, and wearied with emotion, she
murmured:

"Come, reflect, be reasonable."

Then, after a moment's silence:

"Yes, you had better rest this morning. I will come up to see you
this afternoon." And having kissed her daughter on the forehead, she
went to dress herself, already calmed.

Yvette, as soon as her mother had disappeared, rose, and ran to bolt
the door, to be alone, all alone; then she began to think. The
chambermaid knocked about eleven o'clock, and asked through the
door: "Madame the Marquise wants to know if Mademoiselle wishes
anything, and what she will take for her breakfast."

Yvette answered: "I am not hungry, I only ask not to be disturbed."