I cannot be ashamed of it; that I have no regrets; that I love him still even in death; that I shall always love him and never loved any other man; that he was my life, my joy, my hope, my comfort, everything—­everything in the world to me for so long!  Listen, my boy, before God, who hears me, I should never have had a joy in my existence if I had not met him; never anything—­not a touch of tenderness or kindness, not one of those hours which make us regret growing old—­nothing.  I owe everything to him!  I had but him in the world, and you two boys, your brother and you.  But for you, all would have been empty, dark, and void as the night.  I should never have loved, or known, or cared for anything—­I should not even have wept—­for I have wept, my little Jean; oh, yes, and bitter tears, since we came to Havre.  I was his wholly and forever; for ten years I was as much his wife as he was my husband before God who created us for each other.  And then I began to see that he loved me less.  He was always kind and courteous, but I was not what I had been to him.  It was all over!  Oh, how I have cried!  How dreadful and delusive life is!  Nothing lasts.  Then we came here—­I never saw him again; he never came.  He promised it in every letter.  I was always expecting him, and I never saw him again—­and now he is dead!  But he still cared for us since he remembered you.  I shall love him to my latest breath, and I never will deny him, and I love you because you are his child, and I could never be ashamed of him before you.  Do you understand?  I could not.  So if you wish me to remain you must accept the situation as his son, and we will talk of him sometimes; and you must love him a little and we must think of him when we look at each other.  If you will not do this—­if you cannot—­then good-bye, my child; it is impossible that we should live together.  Now, I will act by your decision.”

Jean replied gently: 

“Stay, mother.”

She clasped him in her arms, and her tears flowed again; then, with her face against his, she went on: 

“Well, but Pierre.  What can we do about Pierre?”

Jean answered: 

“We will find some plan!  You cannot live with him any longer.”

At the thought of her elder son she was convulsed with terror.

“No, I cannot; no, no!” And throwing herself on Jean’s breast she cried in distress of mind: 

“Save me from him, you, my little one.  Save me; do something—­I don’t know what.  Think of something.  Save me.”

“Yes, mother, I will think of something.”

“And at once.  You must, this minute.  Do not leave me.  I am so afraid of him—­so afraid.”

“Yes, yes; I will hit on some plan.  I promise you I will.”

“But at once; quick, quick!  You cannot imagine what I feel when I see him.”

Then she murmured softly in his ear:  “Keep me here, with you.”

He paused, reflected, and with his blunt good-sense saw at once the dangers of such an arrangement.  But he had to argue for a long time, combating her scared, terror-stricken insistence.