might lose him should she
set another affection and another duty in her life. And the Marquis,
while bowing to her decision, had continued to worship her with his whole
soul, ever paying his court as on the first evening when he had seen her,
still gallant and faithful after a quarter of a century had passed. There
had never been anything between them, not even the exchange of a kiss.

Seeing how sad she looked, he feared that he might have displeased her,
and so he asked: "I should have liked to render you happy, but I didn't
know how, and the fault can certainly only rest with me. Is Gerard giving
you any cause for anxiety?"

She shook her head, and then replied: "As long as things remain as they
are we cannot complain of them, my friend, since we accepted them."

She referred to her son's culpable connection with Baroness Duvillard.
She had ever shown much weakness with regard to that son whom she had had
so much trouble to rear, for she alone knew what exhaustion, what racial
collapse was hidden behind his proud bearing. She tolerated his idleness,
the apathetic disgust which, man of pleasure that he was, had turned him
from the profession of diplomacy as from that of arms. How many times had
she not repaired his acts of folly and paid his petty debts, keeping
silent concerning them, and refusing all pecuniary help from the Marquis,
who no longer dared offer his millions, so stubbornly intent she was on
living upon the remnants of her own fortune. And thus she had ended by
closing her eyes to her son's scandalous love intrigue, divining in some
measure how things had happened, through self-abandonment and lack of
conscience--the man weak, unable to resume possession of himself, and the
woman holding and retaining him. The Marquis, however, strangely enough,
had only forgiven the intrigue on the day when Eve had allowed herself to
be converted.

"You know, my friend, how good-natured Gerard is," the Countess resumed.
"In that lie both his strength and weakness. How would you have me scold
him when he weeps over it all with me? He will tire of that woman."

M. de Morigny wagged his head. "She is still very beautiful," said he.
"And then there's the daughter. It would be graver still if he were to
marry her--"

"But the daughter's infirm?"

"Yes, and you know what would be said: A Quinsac marrying a monster for
the sake of her millions."

This was their mutual terror. They knew everything that went on at the
D