She had finished speaking a quarter of an hour before Michel entered. She had looked calmly into the faces of her audience. She knew what to think of the artless emotion of some, of the masked malevolence of others. She knew that she should have the courage to face all the exaggerations, all the sneers, all the malicious remarks to which her declaration would give rise in the outside world, and especially in aristocratic society. She was ready for everything, and felt strong and brave, supported by her son's arm--that woman who had steadfastly refused to accept the protection of a husband or the consolations of a lover. Some of those present, whether maliciously or from stupidity, had tried to induce her to add some details, some further particulars, to her declaration. She had replied gently but firmly: "Not before so many witnesses, and on a day of mourning and solemnity, can I undertake to entertain or interest you by telling a love-story. Besides, it is all a long way off. I was very young then, and after twenty years have passed since those exciting days, I should find it hard to speak of them from a standpoint which would enable you to understand the choice I thought fit to make. I will allow you to consider it an extraordinary act, but I will not allow anyone to speak reproachfully of it in my presence; for that would be an insult to the man whose name I accepted, to hand it down to my son." There was much eager whispering among the groups scattered through that vast apartment. Only the group at the extreme end, consisting of honest workmen and faithful servants, was grave and calm, and secretly touched. Magnani's father and mother came forward weeping, and kissed Agatha's hand. Mila, in the midst of her transports of amazement and joy, was a little depressed in the depths of her heart. She said to herself that Magnani should be there; but she could not see him, although she looked everywhere. However, she forgot him when Michel appeared, and she rose to rush to him through the groups, malevolent or thunderstruck, which opened to give passage to the artisan prince and his woolen blouse. But she stopped short, with crimson cheeks and in sore distress: Michel was no longer her brother; she must not kiss him any more.