You weep to-night, but to-morrow you would turn me out of the house.

You, even you, could not forgive me." He replied: "I?
I?
How little you know me!" with such a burst of genuine affection that, with a cry, she seized his head by the hair with both hands, and dragging him violently to her kissed him distractedly all over his face.
Then she sat still, her cheek against his, feeling the warmth of his skin through his beard, and she whispered in his ear: "No, my little Jean, you would not forgive me to-morrow.

You think so, but you deceive yourself.

You have forgiven me this evening, and that forgiveness has saved my life; but you must never see me again." And he repeated, clasping her in his arms: "Mother, do not say that." "Yes, my child, I must go away.

I do not know where, nor how I shall set about it, nor what I shall do; but it must be done.