Henriette.  No, I should regret it afterward, and you would despise me—­no, no, no!—­Have you ever heard that a person could be hated to death?  Well, my father incurred the hatred of my mother and my sisters, and he melted away like wax before a fire.  Ugh!  Let us talk of something else.  And, above all, let us get away.  The air is poisoned here.  To-morrow your laurels will be withered, the triumph will be forgotten, and in a week another triumphant hero will hold the public attention.  Away from here, to work for new victories!  But first of all, Maurice, you must embrace your child and provide for its immediate future.  You don’t have to see the mother at all.

Maurice.  Thank you!  Your good heart does you honour, and I love you doubly when you show the kindness you generally hide.

Henriette.  And then you go to the Cremerie and say good-by to the old lady and your friends.  Leave no unsettled business behind to make your mind heavy on our trip.

Maurice.  I’ll clear up everything, and to-night we meet at the railroad station.

Henriette.  Agreed!  And then:  away from here—­away toward the sea and the sun!

(Curtain.)

ACT III

FIRST SCENE

(In the Cremerie.  The gas is lit.  Mme. Catherine is seated at the counter, Adolphe at a table.)

Mme. Catherine.  Such is life, Monseiur Adolphe.  But you young ones are always demanding too much, and then you come here and blubber over it afterward.

Adolphe.  No, it isn’t that.  I reproach nobody, and I am as fond as ever of both of them.  But there is one thing that makes me sick at heart.  You see, I thought more of Maurice than of anybody else; so much that I wouldn’t have grudged him anything that could give him pleasure—­but now I have lost him, and it hurts me worse than the loss of her.  I have lost both of them, and so my loneliness is made doubly painful.  And then there is still something else which I have not yet been able to clear up.

Mme. Catherine.  Don’t brood so much.  Work and divert yourself.  Now, for instance, do you ever go to church?

Adolphe.  What should I do there?

Mme. Catherine.  Oh, there’s so much to look at, and then there is the music.  There is nothing commonplace about it, at least.

Adolphe.  Perhaps not.  But I don’t belong to that fold, I guess, for it never stirs me to any devotion.  And then, Madame Catherine, faith is a gift, they tell me, and I haven’t got it yet.

Mme. Catherine.  Well, wait till you get it—­But what is this I heard a while ago?  Is it true that you have sold a picture in London for a high price, and that you have got a medal?

Adolphe.  Yes, it’s true.

Mme. Catherine.  Merciful heavens!—­and not a word do you say about it?