e fatigues of diplomacy frighten you, what would you have him do? He
can only live apart pending the final collapse, while this abominable
Republic is dragging France to the grave."

"No doubt, my friend. And yet it is just that idle life which frightens
me. He is losing in it all that was good and healthy in him. I don't
refer merely to the _liaisons_ which we have had to tolerate. The last
one, which I found so much difficulty in countenancing at the outset, so
contrary did it seem to all my ideas and beliefs, has since seemed to me
to exercise almost a good influence. Only he is now entering his
thirty-sixth year, and can he continue living in this fashion without
object or duties? If he is ailing it is perhaps precisely because he does
nothing, holds no position, and serves no purpose." Her voice again
quavered. "And then, my friend, since you force me to tell you
everything, I must own that I am not in good health myself. I have had
several fainting fits of late, and have consulted a doctor. The truth is,
that I may go off at any moment."

With a quiver, Morigny leant forward in the still deepening gloom, and
wished to take hold of her hands. "You! what, am I to lose you, my last
affection!" he faltered, "I who have seen the old world I belong to
crumble away, I who only live in the hope that you at all events will
still be here to close my eyes!"

But she begged him not to increase her grief: "No, no, don't take my
hands, don't kiss them! Remain there in the shade, where I can scarcely
see you.... We have loved one another so long without aught to cause
shame or regret; and that will prove our strength--our divine
strength--till we reach the grave.... And if you were to touch me, if
I were to feel you too near me I could not finish, for I have not done so
yet."

As soon as he had relapsed into silence and immobility, she continued:
"If I were to die to-morrow, Gerard would not even find here the little
fortune which he still fancies is in my hands. The dear child has often
cost me large sums of money without apparently being conscious of it. I
ought to have been more severe, more prudent. But what would you have?
Ruin is at hand. I have always been too weak a mother. And do you now
understand in what anguish I live? I ever have the thought that if I die
Gerard will not even possess enough to live on, for he is incapable of
effecting the miracle which I renew each day, in order to keep the house
up on a decent