"No, no!" she cried. "I have but one child; there is only one I love; I
don't want any other."
Cecile had risen, greatly moved, and desirous of bringing her sister to
reason. Supposing that the other son should come, how could she turn him
out of doors? At the same time, though her pity was aroused for the
abandoned one, she also began to bewail the loss of their happiness. It
became necessary for Mathieu to reassure them both by saying that he
regarded such a visit as most improbable. Without telling them the exact
truth, he spoke of the elder lad's disappearance, adding, however, that
he must be ignorant even of his mother's name. Thus, when he left the
sisters, they already felt relieved and had again turned to their little
boxes while smiling at their son, to whom they had once more intrusted
the scissors in order that he might cut out some paper men.
Down below, at the street corner, Constance, in great impatience, was
looking out of the cab window, watching the house-door.
"Well?" she asked, quivering, as soon as Mathieu was near her.
"Well, the mother knows nothing and has seen nobody. It was a foregone
conclusion.
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