May I beg of you to leave me alone with my mother ?" Lucan murmured a few words of respect, and withdrew.

It was quite true, as he had said, that Clotilde was dearer to him than ever.

Nothing had inspired him with such a lofty idea of the moral worth of that woman as her attitude during that trying evening.

Stricken in the midst of her flight of happiness, she had fallen without a cry, without a groan, striving to hide her wound; she had manifested in his presence that exquisite modesty in suffering so rare among her sex.

He was the more grateful to her for it, that he was deeply averse to those pathetic and turbulent demonstrations which most women never fail to eagerly exhibit on every occasion, when they are indeed kind enough not to bring them about..