ou'll lead a nice quiet life and have everything you
need. Your room will be kept in order for you, I will help you bring up
the boy, you will be able to go out as much as you want to. We will give
you perfect freedom.... And you mustn't forget you still have a future,
you're young.... Why don't you say something? Am I an enemy? Am I not
considering your good?"

My mother floundered for more arguments. So to avoid idle discussion I
threw my arms around her neck.

She smiled a good full smile, thinking the battle was won and everything
was settled without much difficulty.... Now that she was satisfied, her
best arguments came crowding: she had known from the start that I would
agree with her.

"You haven't only just yourself to consider, you see. When a woman has a
child, she doesn't do any and everything she feels like doing."

Now I had to explain!

"Mamma, dear...."

I was biting my lips and probably wore the same obstinate look I did as
a little girl, because she pushed me away and her eyes flashed.

"And what about us? In what sort of a position do you think it places
us?... Think a little. People will see you suddenly running away as if
we had refused to take you in. What do you think we'll be taken for? And
you, my goodness! How will it look for a young woman to go away all by
herself, on an adventure?"

Her face was purple, her voice came out in a rush, her arms extended
beyond her shadow. She was quite beside herself.

I don't know what made me do it, whether my worn nerves or my terror at
always, no matter what I did, seeing a gulf yawn between us--I burst
into tears.

With her stubborn patience my mother often went to extremes, but she
could not resist the argument of tears. She was taken aback. I had
conquered. She put her arms round me in a large, warm, cradling embrace,
planted short little kisses all over my hair, comforted me in my
distress. "Come, dear, don't cry, don't cry."

I made a tremendous effort to shake off a frightful impression. If I had
had to pay with my life to get rid of it, I would have paid with my
life. But drop by drop the poison filtered into my heart and changed it
into a bitter heart which seemed unlike my own.

With all the appearance of humility in her drooping shoulders and bowed
head, armed with the tricky sweetness of a person accustomed to
yielding, my mother drew our chairs closer together and tried to console
me at any price by talking of something else. She h