And she left her daughter and seated herself in a chair close by. She hid her face in her hands and sat motionless, in a most despairing attitude. Alice, drying her own tears, tried to console her. “Why have I hurt you, Mother dear?” Madame Dulaurens lifted her head slowly and with an expression of the deepest sorrow replied: “Because I see quite well that you are going to leave me. M. Guibert will take you far away from us--into some wretched little town in France, or even to Algiers. He might even want to take you with him on some expedition. Love will not keep these conquering heroes back for very long from glory and danger. How _could_ you love him? You are so gentle and so home-loving.” Standing beside her mother, her eyes guiltily lowered to the ground, Alice murmured: “Oh, Mamma, I don’t know. Perhaps because I am weak ... and he is strong.” With her chin in her hand and without looking at the girl Madame Dulaurens went on as if she were seeking an explanation for herself. “I can understand his wanting to marry you. The Guiberts have been all but ruined since the Doctor made himself the savior of that banker at Annecy. They say that there was no bankruptcy, that everything was paid up. But one never knows. That suicide and failure were very curious. And then that expedition to Madagascar! Oh, I agree that the Captain distinguished himself, there is no doubt about that, and I made him feel it clearly enough. And he has every reason to be thankful to me. Instead of that he proposes to take my daughter away from me. That expedition into an unhealthy country was terrible. All our soldiers got the fever there. Yes, all of them, my dear. I would not want you to marry an invalid. It is my duty to see to that. Oh, I only want you to be happy. You see, dear, young girls like you know nothing of life. They have young loving hearts only too ready to admire heroism and courage, and then they confuse admiration with love. It is not the same thing, my dear Alice. You will find it out for yourself some day. I only hope you will not find it out too late!” With a few short, cutting sentences she destroyed the happiness of which Alice had seemed so sure. Little by little, the girl had drawn back into the window. Half hidden in its recess, she began to cry again, quietly wringing her hands in despair. Seated upright in her armchair, Madame Dulaurens coldly renewed the attack: “Now I really thought that M. de Marthenay pleased you. He is very attractive, isn’t he? A good name, a fine figure, and fortune. He is a cavalryman, and rides divinely. He dances perfectly. I chose him in preference to anybody else. And you were going to stay with us. We were to have our part in your happiness, and you want to take this away from us altogether.” “Mamma!” cried Alice reproachfully.