"No; I will tell you what that law is made for.

It is made to--punish--my--child--for--not--choosing--her--father! Pere Jerome--my God, what a law!" She dropped back into her seat.

The tears came in a flood, which she made no attempt to restrain.
"No," she began again--and here she broke into English--"fo' me I don' kyare; but, Pere Jerome,--'tis fo' dat I come to tell you,--dey _shall not_ punizh my daughter!" She was on her feet again, smiting her heaving bosom with the fan.

"She shall marrie oo she want!" Pere Jerome had heard her out, not interrupting by so much as a motion of the hand.

Now his decision was made, and he touched her softly with the ends of his fingers.
"Madame Delphine, I want you to go at 'ome.