“By not being shocked just now, I am afraid it is I who have shocked you. There are certain liberties of thought of which men would like to keep the monopoly. And yet I can’t pretend to have more reprobation for you than I feel. Life has not left me ignorant. I know what a precarious thing boys’ purity is, even when it has the appearance of being most intact. And besides, I don’t think that the youths who are chastest turn into the best husbands--nor even, unfortunately, the most faithful!” she added, smiling sadly. “And then their father’s example made me wish other virtues for my sons. But I am afraid of their taking to debauchery or to degrading liaisons. Olivier is easily led astray. You will have it at heart to keep him straight. I think you will be able to do him good. It only rests with you....” These words filled me with confusion. “You make me out better than I am.” That is all I could find to say, in the stupidest, stiffest way. She went on with exquisite delicacy: “It is Olivier who will make you better. With love’s help what can one not obtain from oneself?” “Does Oscar know he is with me?” I asked, to put a little air between us. “He does not even know he is in Paris. I told you that he pays very little attention to his sons. That is why I counted on you to speak to George. Have you done so?” “No--not yet.” Pauline’s brow grew suddenly sombre. “I am becoming more and more anxious. He has an air of assurance, which seems to me a combination of recklessness, cynicism, presumption. He works well. His masters are pleased with him; my anxiety has nothing to lay hold of....” Then all of a sudden, throwing aside her calm and speaking with an excitement such that I barely recognized her: “Do you realize what my life is?” she exclaimed. “I have restricted my happiness; year by year, I have been obliged to narrow it down; one by one, I have curtailed my hopes. I have given in; I have tolerated; I have pretended not to understand, not to see.... But all the same, one clings to something, however small; and when even that fails one!... In the evening he comes and works beside me under the lamp; when sometimes he raises his head from his book, it isn’t affection that I see in his look--it’s defiance. I haven’t deserved it.... Sometimes it seems to me suddenly that all my love for him is turned to hatred; and I wish that I had never had any children.” Her voice trembled. I took her hand. “Olivier will repay you, I vouch for it.” She made an effort to recover herself. “Yes, I am mad to speak so; as if I hadn’t three sons. When I think of one, I forget the others.... You’ll think me very unreasonable, but there are really moments when reason isn’t enough.” “And yet what I admire most about you is your reasonableness,” said I baldly, in the hopes of calming her. “The other day, you talked about Oscar so wisely....” Pauline drew herself up abruptly. She looked at me and shrugged her shoulders.