“Too discreet,” said the jealous mother, observing the red flush on her son’s forehead.

“My dear mother,” said Calyste, kneeling down beside the baroness, “I didn’t think it necessary to publish my defeat.  Mademoiselle des Touches, or, if you choose to call her so, Camille Maupin, rejected my love more than eighteen months ago, during her last stay at Les Touches.  She laughed at me, gently; saying she might very well be my mother; that a woman of forty committed a sort of crime against nature in loving a minor, and that she herself was incapable of such depravity.  She made a thousand little jokes, which hurt me—­for she is witty as an angel; but when she saw me weep hot tears she tried to comfort me, and offered me her friendship in the noblest manner.  She has more heart than even talent; she is as generous as you are yourself.  I am now her child.  On her return here lately, hearing from her that she loves another, I have resigned myself.  Do not repeat the calumnies that have been said of her.  Camille is an artist, she has genius, she leads one of those exceptional existences which cannot be judged like ordinary lives.”

“My child,” said the religious Fanny, “nothing can excuse a woman for not conducting herself as the Church requires.  She fails in her duty to God and to society by abjuring the gentle tenets of her sex.  A woman commits a sin in even going to a theatre; but to write the impieties that actors repeat, to roam about the world, first with an enemy to the Pope, and then with a musician, ah!  Calyste, you can never persuade me that such acts are deeds of faith, hope, or charity.  Her fortune was given her by God to do good, and what good does she do with hers?”

Calyste sprang up suddenly, and looked at his mother.

“Mother,” he said, “Camille is my friend; I cannot hear her spoken of in this way; I would give my very life for her.”

“Your life!” said the baroness, looking at her son, with startled eyes.  “Your life is our life, the life of all of us.”

“My nephew has just said many things I do not understand,” said the old woman, turning toward him.

“Where did he learn them?” said the mother; “at Les Touches.”

“Yes, my darling mother; she found me ignorant as a carp, and she has taught me.”

“You knew the essential things when you learned the duties taught us by religion,” replied the baroness.  “Ah! this woman is fated to destroy your noble and sacred beliefs.”

The old maid rose, and solemnly stretched forth her hands toward her brother, who was dozing in his chair.

“Calyste,” she said, in a voice that came from her heart, “your father has never opened books, he speaks Breton, he fought for God and for the king.  Educated people did the evil, educated noblemen deserted their land,—­be educated if you choose!”

So saying, she sat down and began to knit with a rapidity which betrayed her inward emotion.