er. I was always expecting him, and I never
saw him again--and now he is dead! But he still cared for us since he
remembered you. I shall love him to my latest breath, and I never will
deny him, and I love you because you are his child, and I could never be
ashamed of him before you. Do you understand? I could not. So if you
wish me to remain you must accept the situation as his son, and we will
talk of him sometimes; and you must love him a little and we must think
of him when we look at each other. If you will not do this--if you
cannot--then good-by, my child; it is impossible that we should live
together. Now, I will act by your decision."

Jean replied gently:

"Stay, mother."

She clasped him in her arms, and her tears flowed again; then, with
her face against his, she went on:

"Well, but Pierre. What can we do about Pierre?"

Jean murmured:

"We will find some plan! You cannot live with him any longer."

At the thought of her elder son she was convulsed with terror.

"No, I cannot; no, no!" And throwing herself on Jean's breast she
cried in distress of mind:

"Save me from him, you my little one. Save me; do something--I don't
know what. Think of something. Save me."

"Yes, mother, I will think of something."

"And at once. You must, this minute. Do not leave me. I am so afraid
of him--so afraid."

"Yes, yes; I will hit on some plan. I promise you I will."

"But at once; quick, quick! You cannot imagine what I feel when I see
him."

Then she murmured softly in his ear: "Keep me here, with you."

He paused, reflected, and with his blunt good-sense saw at once the
dangers of such an arrangement. But he had to argue for a long time,
combatting her scared, terror-stricken insistence.

"Only for to-night," she said. "Only for to-night. And to-morrow
morning you can send word to Roland that I was taken ill."

"That is out of the question, as Pierre left you here. Come take
courage. I will arrange everything, I promise you, to-morrow; I will
be with you by nine o'clock. Come, put on your bonnet. I will take you
home."

"I will do just what you desire," she said with a childlike impulse of
timidity and gratitude.

She tried to rise, but the shock had been too much for her, she could
not stand.

He made her drink some sugared water and smell at some salts, while he
bathed her temples with vinegar. She let him do what he would,
exhausted but comforted, as after the pains of child-birth. At last