"What are you doing?" said Constance, gently; "why do you kneel at my feet? You are not guilty toward me. Ah! it would be more just for you to kneel at the feet of her whom you have betrayed and deserted! I have no right to complain: your fault is only too common among men. You knew this poor girl before your marriage. She has become a mother. But, in the world, your conduct would be considered perfectly natural and proper. Far from blaming you, society would perhaps applaud you for forgetting a woman who could not be your wife. But, I confess, I thought that you were different from the heedless rakes who pride themselves on the tears of which they are the cause. What lamentable results your fault has had! If you only knew all that the unhappy creature has suffered! She was in the last stages of destitution, actually dying of starvation, when I took her in; yes, dying of starvation--with your son in her arms. Oh! Frédéric! do you realize what your remorse would have been? You weep? Ah! my dear, let your tears flow; I would rather lose your heart than believe that it was capable of utter lack of feeling. Listen: you have found your child's mother; you must not abandon her again. If you will leave everything to me, I will assure her future; she shall live in a house which I will buy for her in some pleasant place in the country; she shall want nothing. Her son is a dear boy; I would have liked to be a mother to him, but it would be a horrible thing to separate her from her child. He shall have a good education. When he has grown up, you shall decide his fate; and be assured that I shall never consider anything that you do for him more than you ought to do. That is what I propose to do for the woman you once loved. But it may be that this plan does not satisfy you. Perhaps, on seeing the poor girl again, the love that she formerly inspired in you has revived. Perhaps you love her still. Oh! Frédéric, I entreat you to be sincere with me; let me read in the bottom of your heart. There is no sacrifice of which I am not capable to make you happy. Yes, my dear; I shall be able to endure anything--except the sight of your regret for another. If you love her--if you still feel drawn to her--I will go away, I will bury myself on one of our estates; you will not see me again, and you will be at liberty to keep the mother of your child with you." Constance could no longer hold back the tears that were suffocating her. She had made a prolonged effort to restrain her feelings, but her courage gave way when she proposed to Frédéric that they should part.