"Oh, Andre-Louis, my child, if you knew how I have hungered to hold you so! If you knew how in denying myself this I have atoned and suffered! Kercadiou should not have told you-not even now. It was wrong-most wrong, perhaps, to you. It would have been better that he should have left me here to my fate, whatever that may be. And yet -come what may of this-to be able to hold you so, to be able to acknowledge you, to hear you call me mother-oh! Andre-Louis, I cannot now regret it. I cannot... I cannot wish it otherwise."
"Is there any need, madame?" he asked her, his stoicism deeply shaken. "There is no occasion to take others into our confidence. This is for to-night alone. To-night we are mother and son. To-morrow we resume our former places, and, outwardly at least, forget."
"Forget? Have you no heart, Andre-Louis?"
The question recalled him curiously to his attitude towards life
-that histrionic attitude of his that he accounted true philosophy.
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