_Lucie._ Rubbish! You evidently take me for a fool. I know what you do at those times.... Don't deny it. You must see that I know all about it.... Do you want me to tell you the name of the person you go to see over at Villeneuve, while I am nursing or "a future mother," as you call it? We had better say no more about it. _Brignac_ goes off to his political meeting to proclaim to his constituency the sacredness of motherhood,--the deepest and highest function of woman. _Lucie_ has a younger sister, _Annette_, a girl of eighteen. Their parents being dead, _Lucie_ takes the place of the mother. She is passionately fond of her little sister and makes it her purpose to keep the girl sheltered and protected from the outside world. _Annette_ arrives and announces with great enthusiasm that the son of the wealthy Bernins has declared his love and asked her to marry him, and that his mother, _Mme. Bernin_, is coming to talk the matter over with _Lucie_. _Mme. Bernin_ does arrive, but not for the purpose poor _Annette_ had hoped. Rather is it to tell _Lucie_ that her son cannot marry the girl. Oh, not because she isn't beautiful, pure or attractive. Indeed not! _Mme. Bernin_ herself says that her son could not wish for a more suitable match. But, then, she has no money, and her son must succeed in the world. He must acquire social standing and position; that cannot be had without money. When _Lucie_ pleads with her that after all the Bernins themselves had begun at the bottom, and that it did not prevent their being happy, _Mme. Bernin_ replies: No, no; we are not happy, because we have worn ourselves out hunting after happiness. We wanted to "get on," and we got on. But what a price we paid for it! First, when we were both earning wages, our life was one long drudgery of petty economy and meanness. When we set up on our own account, we lived in an atmosphere of trickery, of enmity, of lying; flattering the customers, and always in terror of bankruptcy. Oh, I know the road to fortune! It means tears, lies, envy, hate; one suffers--and one makes other people suffer. I have had to go through it: my children shan't. We've only had two children: we meant only to have one. Having two we had to be doubly hard upon ourselves. Instead of a husband and wife helping one another, we have been partners spying upon one another; calling one another to account for every little expenditure or stupidity; and on our very pillows disputing about our business. That's how we got rich; and now we can't enjoy our money because we don't know how to use it; and we aren't happy because our old age is made bitter by the memories and the rancor left by the old bad days; because we have suffered too much and hated too much. My children shall not go through this. I endured it that they might be spared.