certain an indication; distrustful love
may be deceived, but maternal instinct _never_ is. Now, to induce a
woman of Madame de Meilhan's spirit and character to come agitated and
trembling to see me, ... why, I can say it without vanity, her son must
be madly in love, and she wished at all costs either to destroy or cure
this fatal passion that made him so unhappy.

When she arose to leave, I asked permission to walk back with her to
Richeport, as she was not well enough to go so far alone; she eagerly
accepted my offer, and as we went along, conversing upon indifferent
subjects, her uneasiness gradually disappeared; our conversation seemed
to relieve her mind of its heavy burden.

It happened that truth spoke for itself, as it always does, but
unfortunately is not always listened to. By my manners, the tone of my
voice, my respectful but dignified politeness--which in no way resembled
Mad. Taverneau's servile and obsequious eagerness to please, her humble
deference being that of an inferior to a superior, whilst mine was
nothing more than that due to an old lady from a young one--by these
shades insignificant to the generality of people, but all revealing to
an experienced eye, Mad. de Meilhan at once divined everything, that is
to say, that I was her equal in rank, education and nobility of soul;
she knew it, she felt it. This fact admitted, one thing remained
uncertain; why had I fallen from my rank in society? Was it through
misfortune or error? This was the question she was asking herself.

I knew enough of her projects for the future, her ambition as a mother,
to decide which of the two suppositions would alarm her most. If I were
a light, trifling woman, as she every now and then seemed to hope, her
son was merely engaged in a flirtation that would have no dangerous
result; if on the contrary I was an honorable woman, which she evidently
feared might be the case, her son's future was ruined, and she trembled
for the consequences of this serious passion. Her perplexity amused me.
The country around us was superb, and as we walked along I went into
ecstasies over the beauty of the scenery and the lovely tints of the
sky; she would smile and think: "She is only an artist, an
adventuress--I am saved; she will merely be Edgar's friend, and keep him
all the winter at Richeport." Alas! it is a great pity that she is not
rich enough to spend the winter in Paris with Edgar; she seems miserable
at being separated from hi