Never before had she so behaved, forgetting and
surrendering herself so passionately. "I repeat," said she, "that nobody
has anything to fear from me--neither my husband, nor that girl, nor the
child. Cannot you understand me? I am simply tormented; I suffer at
knowing nothing. Yes, it seems to me that I shall feel more at ease when
I know the truth. It is for myself that I question you, for my own peace
of mind. . . . Ah! if I could only tell you, if I could tell you!"
He began to divine many things; it was unnecessary for her to be more
explicit. He knew that during the past year she and her husband had been
hoping for the advent of a second child, and that none had come. As a
woman, Constance felt no jealousy of Norine, but as a mother she was
jealous of her son. She could not drive the thought of that child from
her mind; it ever and ever returned thither like a mocking insult now
that her hopes of replacing Maurice were fading fast. Day by day did she
dream more and more passionately of the other woman's son, wondering
where he was, what had become of him, whether he were healthy, and
whether he resembled his father.
"I assure you, my dear Mathieu," she resumed, "that you will really bring
me relief by answering me.
Pages:
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437