“Mother,” she said, in trembling tones, “if ever you say one word to my husband, take care!  I shall never see you again!”

Madame Desvarennes flinched before her daughter.  It was no longer the weak Micheline who trusted to her tears, but a vehement woman ready to defend him whom she loved.  And as she remained silent, not daring to speak again: 

“Mother,” continued Micheline, with sadness, yet firmly, “this explanation was inevitable; I have suffered beforehand, knowing that I should have to choose between my affection for my husband and my respect for you.”

“Between the one and the other,” said the mistress, bitterly, “you don’t hesitate, I see.”

“It is my duty; and if I failed in it, you yourself, with your good sense, would see it.”

“Oh!  Micheline, could I have expected to find you thus?” cried the mother, in despair.  “What a change!  It is not you who are speaking; it is not my daughter.  Fool that you are!  Don’t you see whither you are being led?  You, yourself, are preparing your own misfortune.  Don’t think that my words are inspired by jealousy.  A higher sentiment dictates them, and at this moment my maternal love gives me, I fear, a foresight of the future.  There is only just time to rescue you from the danger into which you are running.  You hope to retain your husband by your generosity?  There where you think you are giving proofs of love he will only see proofs of weakness.  If you make yourself cheap he will count you as nothing.  If you throw yourself at his feet he will trample on you.”

The Princess shook her head haughtily, and smiled.

“You don’t know him, mamma.  He is a gentleman; he understands all these delicacies, and there is more to be gained by submitting one’s self to his discretion, than by trying to resist his will.  You blame his manner of existence, but you don’t understand him.  I know him.  He belongs to a different race than you and I. He needs refinements of luxury which would be useless to us, but the deprivation of which would be hard to him.  He suffered much when he was poor, he is making up for it now.  We are guilty of some extravagances, ’tis true; but what does it matter?  For whom have you made a fortune?  For me!  For what object?  My happiness!  Well, I am happy to surround my Prince with the glory and pomp which suits him so well.  He is grateful to me; he loves me, and I hold his love dearer than all else in the world; for if ever he ceases to love me I shall die!”

“Micheline!” cried Madame Desvarennes, beside herself, and seizing her daughter with nervous strength.

The young wife quietly allowed her fair head to fall on her mother’s shoulder, and whispered faintly in her ear: 

“You don’t want to wreck my life.  I understand your displeasure.  It is natural; I feel it.  You cannot think otherwise than you do, being a simple, hardworking woman; but I beg of you to banish all hatred, and confine these ideas within yourself.  Say nothing more about them for love of me!”