And his voice never gave sign of animation,
never rose in a louder tone from the depths of his annihilated being,
which would evermore be void. "She wished to be gay, and rich, and
happy," he continued. "It was so legitimate a wish on her part, she was
so intelligent and beautiful! There was only one delight for me, to
content her tastes and satisfy her ambition. You know our new flat. We
spent far too much money on it. Then came that story of the Credit
National and the hope of speedily rising to fortune. And thus, when the
trouble came, and I saw her distracted at the idea of having to renounce
all her dreams, I became as mad as she was, and suffered her to do her
will. We thought that our only means of escaping from everlasting penury
and drudgery was to evade Nature, and now, alas! she lies there."
Morange's lugubrious voice, never broken by a sob, never rising to
violence, but sounding like a distant, monotonous, mournful knell, rent
Mathieu's heart. He sought words of consolation, and spoke of Reine.
"Ah, yes!" said the other, "I am very fond of Reine. She is so like her
mother. You will keep her at your house till to-morrow, won't you? Tell
her nothing; let her play; I will acquaint her with this dreadful
misfortune.
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