And then, one day, she announced, ’Ernest and I are going to be married.’  And when we cried out why, she explained that—­despite her own conviction that marriage was a barbarous institution—­she felt, in the present state of public opinion, people owed legitimacy to their children.  So Ernest, who, according to both French and Brazilian law, could not, at his age, marry without his parents’ consent, was going home to procure it.  He would sail next week; he would be back before three months.  Ernest sailed from Lisbon; and the post, a day or two after he was safe at sea, brought Nina a letter from him.  It was a wild, hysterical, remorseful letter, in which he called himself every sort of name.  He said his parents would never dream of letting him marry her.  They were Catholics, they were very devout, they had prejudices, they had old-fashioned notions.  Besides, he had been as good as affianced to a lady of their election ever since he was born.  He was going home to marry his second cousin.

XI.

Shortly after the birth of Camille I had to go to London, and it was nearly a year before I came back to Paris.  Nina was looking better than when I had left, but still in nowise like her old self—­pale and worn and worried, with a smile that was the ghost of her former one.  She had been waiting for my return, she said, to have a long talk with me.  ’I have made a little plan.  I want you to advise me.  Of course you must advise me to stick to it.’

And when we had reached her lodgings, and were alone in the salon, ’It is about Camille, it is about her bringing-up,’ she explained.  ’The Latin Quarter?  It is all very well for you, for me; but for a growing child?  Oh, my case was different; I had my father.  But Camille?  Restaurants, cafes, studios, the Boul’ Miche, and this little garret—­do they form a wholesome environment?  Oh, no, no—­I am not a renegade.  I am a Bohemian; I shall always be; it is bred in the bone.  But my daughter—­ought she not to have the opportunity, at least, of being different, of being like other girls?  You see, I had my father; she will have only me.  And I distrust myself; I have no “system.”  Shall I not do better, then, to adopt the system of the world?  To give her the conventional education, the conventional “advantages”?  A home, what they call home influences.  Then, when she has grown up, she can choose for herself.  Besides, there is the question of francs and centimes.  I have been able to earn a living for myself, it is true.  But even that is more difficult now; I can give less time to work; I am in debt.  And we are two; and our expenses must naturally increase from year to year.  And I should like to be able to put something aside.  Hand-to-mouth is a bad principle when you have a growing child.’