‘Not so much afterwards! The mother is the God of the child, monsieur, and if a boy has a good, true, pure-hearted mother who loves him, he can have no better friend nor _confidante_ than herself, until he becomes a man. But then their positions should alter. The _man_ who leans upon his mother is a milksop. He should be her protector—her guide—even her counsellor. It is thus that women are rewarded for the care and pains with which they have watched over the infancy of their little ones.’ ‘How true a woman you are!’ he said, earnestly. ‘I hope so, monsieur! I should be sorry to deserve any other name. But we are wandering from your story.’ ‘My mother died when I was quite a baby. She was very beautiful, and my father, who held a high position at Court, was so distracted by her loss that he threw up his appointment, left all his friends, and wandered for many years in foreign countries. Meanwhile, I was transferred from my nurse’s arms to those of a private tutor, whose house I left only to go to college. I had an uncle on the mother’s side, Le Sieur de Beaupré, the father of the cousin to whom I told you I was once betrothed. This betrothal was contracted when I was very young—not yet sixteen, whilst Blanche had only completed her fourteenth year. We were betrothed with the consent and at the desire of my father, who was at that time wandering about the Brazils, and expressed his intention of not returning to Paris until I had passed through the _Athénée_, and was ready to be married. I had grown, therefore, up to eighteen years of age without ever having seen my father.’ ‘What a sad, desolate childhood!’ I exclaimed; ‘and how different from mine, monsieur! My father died, it is true, but my dear mother never left me, day nor night, from the hour of my birth. No wonder that you should have gone wrong, without affection, counsel, or home. Those who left you so are more to blame for what followed than you are.’ ‘You pity me, mademoiselle?’ ‘I do indeed! From the bottom of my heart! I see you as a child and a growing man, lonely and unloved, and I could weep for the many desolate and unhappy hours you must have passed.’ ‘_Que le bon Dieu te bénisse!_’ he said softly, as he lifted the hand that was lying idly on my lap to his lips, and let it quickly drop again. The action sent the blood rushing to both our faces, and for a minute or two we were silent altogether.