He had approached his wife, and he dared to cry out in the revolt of his tenderness, being doubly irritated by the sad silence she still maintained. “Since they love each other, it is they alone who should be masters of the situation. There is surely nothing in the world greater than to love and be loved. Yes, happiness is always legitimate.” At length Hubertine, standing motionless, spoke slowly: “You are willing, then, that he should take her from us, are you not? That he should marry her notwithstanding our opposition, and without the consent of his father? Would you advise them to do so? Do you think that they would be happy afterwards, and that love would suffice them?” And without changing her manner she continued in the same heart-broken voice: “On my way home I passed by the cemetery, and an undefinable hope made me enter there again. I knelt once more on the spot that is worn by our knees, and I prayed there for a long time.” Hubert had turned very pale, and a cold chill replaced the fever of a few moments before. Certainly he knew well the tomb of the unforgiving mother, where they had so often been in tears and in submission, as they accused themselves of their disobedience, and besought the dead to send them her pardon from the depths of the earth. They had remained there for hours, sure that if the grace they demanded were ever granted them they would be cognisant of it at once. That for which they pleaded, that for which they hoped, was for another infant, a child of pardon, the only sign which would assure them that at last they themselves had been forgiven. But all was in vain. The cold, hard mother was deaf to all their entreaties, and left them under the inexorable punishment of the death of their firstborn, whom she had taken and carried away, and whom she refused to restore to them. “I prayed there for a long time,” repeated Hubertine. “I listened eagerly to know if there would not be some slight movement.” Hubert questioned her with an anxious look. “But there was nothing--no! no sound came up to me from the earth, and within me there was no feeling of relief. Ah! yes, it is useless to hope any longer. It is too late. We brought about our own unhappiness.” Then, trembling, he asked: “Do you accuse me of it?” “Yes, you are to blame, and I also did wrong in following you. We disobeyed in the beginning, and all our life has been spoiled in consequence of that one false step.” “But are you not happy?” “No, I am not happy. A woman who has no child can never be happy. To love merely is not enough. That love must be crowned and blest.”