I know him; he would put a
pistol to his head,--there could be no life, no happiness on earth for
him."
Modeste walked a few steps away from her mother, but immediately came
back.
"Why did you leave me?" demanded Madame Mignon.
"You made me cry, mamma," answered Modeste.
"Ah, my little darling, kiss me. You love no one here? you have no
lover, have you?" she asked, holding Modeste on her lap, heart to
heart.
"No, my dear mamma," said the little Jesuit.
"Can you swear it?"
"Oh, yes!" cried Modeste.
Madame Mignon said no more; but she still doubted.
"At least, if you do choose your husband, you will tell your father?"
she resumed.
"I promised that to my sister, and to you, mother. What evil do you
think I could commit while I wear that ring upon my finger and read
those words: 'Think of Bettina?' Poor sister!"
At these words a truce of silence came between the pair; the mother's
blighted eyes rained tears which Modeste could not check, though she
threw herself upon her knees, and cried: "Forgive me! oh, forgive me,
mother!"
At this instant the excellent Dumay was coming up the hill of
Ingouville on the double-quick,--a fact quite abnormal in the present
life of the cashier.
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