"
All at once Norine had seen the past rise up before her: Beauchene, the
works, and her father, who now had just quitted them owing to his
infirmities, leaving his son Victor behind him.
And a sort of instinctive prudence came to her at the thought that if she
were to give up Beauchene's name she might compromise all her happy life,
since terrible complications might ensue. The dread she felt of that
suspicious-looking lad, who reeked of idleness and vice, inspired her
with an idea: "Your father? He has long been dead," said she.
He could have known nothing, have learnt nothing on that point, for, in
presence of the energy of her answer, he expressed no doubt whatever of
her veracity, but contented himself with making a rough gesture which
indicated how angry he felt at seeing his hungry hopes thus destroyed.
"So I've got to starve!" he growled.
Norine, utterly distracted, was possessed by one painful desire--a desire
that he might take himself away, and cease torturing her by his presence,
to such a degree did remorse, and pity, and fright, and horror now wring
her bleeding heart. She opened a drawer and took from it a ten-franc
piece, her savings for the last three months, with which she had intended
to buy a New Year's present for her little boy.
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