er
all, I was fond of life; but aside from my vocation, which I believe quite
real, I am yielding to a positive necessity. There is no other existence
possible for me but that one. I know very well--it's my own fault; I have
been somewhat foolish--I should not have left you in the first place, or
at least, I should have returned to your house immediately after your
marriage. Now, after months, and even years, is it possible, I ask you? In
the first place, I would die with shame. Can you imagine me in the
presence of your husband? What sort of countenance could I put on? And
then, he must fairly detest me, the bent must be firmly taken in his mind.
Finally, I should be in all respects terribly in your way!"

"But, my dear child, no one hates you; you would be received with
transports of joy, like the prodigal child. If you deem it too painful to
return to my home--if you fear to find or to bring trouble there with
you--God knows how mistaken you are on this point! but still, if you do
fear it, is that a reason why you should bury yourself alive and break my
heart? Could you not return into the world without returning to my own
house, and without having to face all those difficulties that frighten
you? There would be a very simple way of doing that, you know!"

"What is it?" said Julia quietly; "to marry?"

"Undoubtedly," said Clotilde, shaking her head gently and lowering her
voice.

"But, mon Dieu! mother, what possible chance is there of such a thing?
Suppose I were willing--and I am far from it--I know no one, no one knows
me."

"There is some one," rejoined Clotilde, with increasing timidity; "some
one whom you know perfectly well, and who--who adores you."

Julia opened her eyes wide with a pensive and surprised expression, and
after a brief pause of reflection:

"Pierre?" she said.

"Yes," murmured Clotilde, pale with anxiety.

Julia's eyebrows became slightly contracted; she raised her head and
remained for a few seconds with her eyes fixed upon the ceiling; then,
with a slight shrug of her shoulders:

"Why not?" she said gravely. "I would as soon have him as any one else!"

Clotilde uttered a feeble cry, and grasping both her daughter's hands:

"You consent?" she said; "you really consent? And may I take your answer
to him?"

"Yes, but you had better change the text of it," said Julia, laughing.

"Oh! my darling, darling dear!" exclaimed Clotilde, covering Julia's hands
with kisses; "but repeat a