"It is impossible to let Sister Anne live under the same roof as Frédéric." "Of course; it's most embarrassing! But she was so wretched!" "Do you think that I mean to abandon her? I've only sixteen hundred francs a year, but I would gladly sacrifice it all to prevent her presence from disturbing the happiness of this young couple. Yes; I will work for my living, if necessary, or I'll pass the whole of every quarter with Frédéric; but that young woman and her child shall be placed beyond the reach of want." "That is very noble, my dear Dubourg, and if I had any property--but I have nothing save my old classics, which wouldn't be of any use to her, because she can't read." "But how are we to set about inducing Sister Anne to leave this house?" "That would be a very hard task: Madame de Montreville is very fond of her, and is wild over the child; she thinks that he looks like my pupil--Frédéric. By the way, I can conceive a reason for that resemblance now." "I don't know what to do; I can think of nothing. When does Frédéric return?" "In a week; we have plenty of time." "Time! a week will soon be gone; and if he finds Sister Anne here!" "Why, it seems to me that we might tell the girl not to speak." "Of course she won't speak; but her gestures, the expression of her face, will say enough." "Indeed! well, I give you my word that I often can't understand her at all." Dubourg tortured his brain to find some method of sending away Sister Anne and her son. Ménard sat with his eyes fixed on his snuff-box, and pretended to be equally engrossed by that subject, but in reality his thoughts were full of a pâté of hare which had arrived from Paris the night before, and which they were to attack at dinner. Constance returned to the house with the dumb girl and the child; Sister Anne's face still bore traces of suffering, but she was calmer and more resigned; when she saw Dubourg, she smiled sadly at him, and presented her son, at whom he gazed with interest, dismayed by the striking resemblance between his features and his father's. "Don't you think he's a lovely boy?" said Constance. "Yes, madame," Dubourg replied, as he kissed the child; "he's very pretty." "Does he look like his father?" "Very much." "And don't you think he has a look of my husband?" "Oh! not the slightest!" "That's strange; it impressed me at once. His name is Frédéric, too, the dear child; I believe that I love him the more for that." As she spoke, Constance took the child in her arms; Sister Anne watched her, deeply moved, and Dubourg turned his face away to conceal the sensations aroused by that scene.