Gilberte, without entering into details, told of the death of her mother, the loss of the family-papers and the whole chapter of accidents which had prevented her from penetrating the mystery that surrounded her. As she went on, her voice lost its assurance. All this story, which, until then, she had simply regarded as a source of petty worries, now, under Mme. de la Vaudraye’s stern eye, appeared to her the abominable story of a worthless creature. To be without a name! She felt as much ashamed of herself as though they had made the unexpected discovery that she had an ear missing, or a piece of one cheek. And yet, in the silence that followed on her recital she sought in vain for the crime which she had committed, for the crime of which she was held guilty. “Well, mother,” said Guillaume, “there’s nothing serious in that.” “Nothing serious!” sneered Mme. de la Vaudraye. All her little middle-class, provincial feelings were outraged by this unforeseen revelation. The pride of the La Vaudrayes cried aloud within her. What would people say at Domfront if a La Vaudraye married a girl without a name, a foundling, an adventuress, in fact! She pictured the tittletattle, the sidelong allusions, the condolences with which she would be overwhelmed. “My poor friend, how very unpleasant for you!... Of course, I knew there was something suspicious about her, for, after all....” And they would say, among themselves: “No name? Nonsense! When people haven’t a name, it’s because it’s to their interest not to have one, because they are hiding their real name.” She did not take the trouble to put it politely. Bluntly, she declared: “The marriage is out of the question. It will not take place.” Guillaume protested indignantly: “Out of the question! And why, pray?” “Can’t you see that for yourself? I’m surprised at your asking!” “I insist on knowing, as Gilberte’s affianced husband.” “Gilberte’s husband! People don’t marry....” “Silence, mother!” He was standing before her, with his features convulsed. Another word and he would have closed her lips by mean force. She was afraid of him. He went on, dropping his voice: “You are right, we had better not continue this explanation in her presence. Any words other than words of veneration I look upon as an insult to the girl I love.” He pushed her towards the door sternly. But Gilberte barred their road: “No, Guillaume, not like that.... If we must part, let it not be with angry words.... I love both of you too well, yes, both of you, madame,” she declared, in the voice that no one could resist. Her gentleness was stronger than Guillaume’s violence. He made no further movement. Mme. de la Vaudraye allowed herself to be led back into the room. Gilberte made her sit down and knelt beside her: “Act as your conscience tells you, but, please, without any bitterness against me.... Whatever you decide to do, do not let me lose your affection.”