Madame
Ferailleur's indignation and disgust were none the less evident.
"That woman is a shameless creature," she said, coldly, when her
son's narrative was concluded.
Pascal made no reply. He knew only too well that his mother was
right, and yet it wounded him cruelly to hear her speak in this
style. For the baroness was Marguerite's mother after all.
"So," continued Madame Ferailleur, with increasing indignation,
"creatures do exist who are destitute even of the maternal
instincts of animals. I am an honest woman myself; I don't say it
in self-glorification, it's no credit to me; my mother was a
saint, and I loved my husband; what some people call duty was my
happiness, so I may be allowed to speak on this subject. I don't
excuse infidelity, but I can understand how such a thing is
possible. Yes, I can understand how a beautiful young woman, who
is left alone in a city like Paris, may lose her senses, and
forget the worthy man who has exiled himself for her sake, and who
is braving a thousand dangers to win a fortune for her. The
husband who exposes his honor and happiness to such terrible risk,
is an imprudent man. But when this woman has erred, when she has
given birth to a child, how she can abandon it, how she can cast
it off as if it were a dog, I cannot comprehend. I could imagine
infanticide more easily. No, such a woman has no heart, no bowels
of compassion.
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