Roland imagined that his son alluded to some girl with whom he had had some love passages, and he said:
"A woman, I suppose."
"Yes, a woman."
"Dead?"
"No. Worse. Ruined!"
"Ah!"
Though he was startled by this unexpected confidence, in his wife's presence too, and by his son's strange tone about it, the old man made no further inquiries, for in his opinion such affairs did not concern a third person.
Mme. Roland affected not to hear; she seemed ill and was very pale. Several times already her husband, surprised to see her sit down as if she were dropping into her chair, and to hear her gasp as if she could not draw her breath, had said:
"Really, Louise, you look very ill; you tire yourself too much with helping Jean. Give yourself a little rest. Sacristi! The rascal is in no hurry, as he is a rich man."
She shook her head without a word.
But to-day her pallor was so great that Roland remarked on it again.
"Come, come," said he, "this will not do at
