"At the asylum where Mademoiselle Marguerite was brought up, and
there, too, I only heard words of praise. 'Never,' said the
superior, 'have I had a more gifted, sweeter-tempered or more
attractive charge.' They had reproached her sometimes for being
too reserved, and her self-respect had often been mistaken for
inordinate pride; but she had not forgotten the asylum any more
than she had forgotten her former patrons. On one occasion the
superior received from her the sum of twenty-five thousand francs,
and a year ago she presented the institution with one hundred
thousand francs, the yearly income of which is to constitute the
marriage dowry of some deserving orphan."
Pascal was greatly elated. "Well, mother!" he exclaimed, "well,
is it strange that I love her?" Madame Ferailleur made no reply,
and a sorrowful apprehension seized hold of him. "You are
silent," said he, "and why? When the blessed day that will allow
me to wed Marguerite arrives, you surely won't oppose our
marriage?"
"No, my son, nothing that I have learned gives me the right to do
so."
"The right! Ah, you are unjust, mother."
"Unjust! Haven't I faithfully reported all that was told me,
although I knew it would only increase your passion?"
"That's true, but----"
Madame Ferailleur sadly shook her head. "Do you think," she
interrupted, "that I can, without sorrow, see you choose a girl of
no family, a girl who is outside the pale of social recognition?
Don't you understand my disquietude when I think that the girl
that you will marry is the daughter of such a woman as Baroness
Trigault, an unfortunate girl whom her mother cannot even
recognize, since her mother is a married woman----"
"Ah! mother, is that Marguerite's fault?"
"Did I say it was her fault? No--I only pray God that you may
never have to repent of choosing a wife whose past life must ever
remain an impenetrable mystery!"
Pascal had become very pale.
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