"Ah, monsieur," responded the housekeeper, contritely, "your words enlighten me, now, when it is too late. But no, I cannot believe what you have just told me. Mlle. Sabine has not admitted that she loves Onésime, has she?" "Oh, no; she has not admitted it, but I am satisfied of the fact. She is so candid and so sincere that one can read her heart as one reads an open book. She does love him, I tell you, and this destroys all the plans I had formed. But what is the matter? Why are you sobbing so? Suzanne, Suzanne, get up," cried Cloarek, seeing the housekeeper throw herself at his feet. "I have such a dreadful fear." "Explain." "Good Heavens, monsieur, what if you should suppose that in asking my nephew here I was actuated by a desire to interest mademoiselle in him, and so bring about a marriage between them!" "Suzanne, you do me a gross injustice by supposing me capable of such a suspicion." "Tell me, oh, tell me that you do not believe me capable of such a thing." "I repeat that you have been thoughtless and imprudent. That is all, and that is enough; but as for accusing you of any such shameful plotting, that would be utterly absurd on my part. I understand, too, how certain peculiarities in your nephew's character seemed a sufficient guarantee against any such possibility, and that you never suspected that any such danger could threaten my daughter." "Alas! that is the truth, monsieur. I didn't consider Onésime any more dangerous than an infant." "I believe you, but the evil is done, nevertheless." "But it can be repaired. Onésime shall leave the house at daybreak, to-morrow morning, and never set foot in it again." "And Sabine? His sudden departure would grieve her terribly, it might even kill her, weak and nervous as she is,--for she is her poor dear mother over again, in her sensitiveness and extreme susceptibility." "_Mon Dieu_, I see, I see! How culpable I have been!" sobbed the governess. "What are we to do, monsieur? What are we to do?" "I have no idea myself." "Cloarek paced the room in silence several minutes, then he asked, suddenly: "Where is your nephew?" "In the Blue Boom, monsieur. I told him to wait there until I could let him know the result of my interview with you." "Send him to me." "Here, monsieur?" "Yes." "Oh, monsieur, have pity on him, have pity on him, I beseech you!" cried Suzanne, clasping her hands imploringly. "I swear to you that it was not his fault. The poor boy is innocent of any wrong-doing, even in thought. He hasn't the slightest suspicion of all this, I am sure. Have pity on him, I implore you!" "Send him to me, I say." "He shall leave the house this very night, monsieur, I swear it!" "And my daughter! You want her to die of grief, perhaps!" "One word, monsieur. It may be that mademoiselle's affection for Onésime is only a youthful fancy that time and absence will soon cause her to forget."