A story in condensed form
By the French novelist Gérard François Courtois
The author of this engaging story takes up the character of a homeless, cast-off girl who could not live within the family circle; she guarded her honor and struggled to live, but in the end she fell victim to the selfishness of her parents.
Rose said, looking at her mother with a gaze full of grief and sorrow:
"No. I am not asking you, Mother, to sacrifice your youth for my sake. I ask nothing. I want nothing. And yet I had believed that selfishness would never carry you this far, and that your merciful heart would feel its duty of its own accord. Now you are free, and you may dispose of your life exactly as you please!"
Madame Marchand bowed her head a moment and said:
"And what life could I love after today? Your father turned away from me, fell madly in love with that woman, divorced me, and then married her. How am I to live, and on whom am I to lean?... On you?... Your salary hardly suffices to buy a dress and a hat... No... I am not used to living in this atmosphere of misery... I have lived in comfort and luxury, and I cannot bear to see my rival, your father's wife, sweeping about in splendid gowns while I die here of rage and grief and wretchedness and want."
Rose shot her a sharp glance and said:
"If there were in your heart, Mother, an atom's weight of tenderness for me, you would never have thought of abandoning me, and the simple, modest life at my side would not have frightened you. My father has married Madame Béjouard, and you are about to marry Monsieur Raymond. Each of you thought of yourself before all else. Each of you thought of your own love and your own happiness. Each of you turned away from me and paid me no heed, as though I were a creature foreign to you both —
as though I were a foundling girl you had sheltered for a stretch of time, until your hearts turned from her and left her prey to a blind, thankless fate. Go... go, Mother, you too, and marry the man you love. And be assured that all I long for is to see you happy, even upon the ruins of my love!"
Madame Marchand laughed, patted her daughter's arm, and said:
"Your feelings are running away with you, Rose, and the realities of life escape you. I am going to marry a rich man, and this man can shower money on you without reckoning. Thus I save myself, take my revenge on your father who betrayed us, and turn his wife's scheming back upon her own throat. So come to your senses, do not cling to illusions, and resign yourself to living with me in the company of my new husband."
Rose cried out, her breath heaving:
"Your husband-to-be, Monsieur Raymond, hates me — hates me already; he is irritated by me, cannot bear the sight of me, considers me an intruder between you. Yes. He hates me just as my father's second wife hates me. And tomorrow, once I come between you, I shall feel that I am an outcast girl — the very feeling that steals over me today whenever I visit my father's house!"
The blood rose to Rose's face, and she went on, on the verge of tears:
"Stay with me, Mother!... Stay with me!... We shall live poor, but we shall be happy... I will do my utmost to perfect my work, and my superiors will reward me and double my salary... They have promised it, I swear it to you... So stay with me, and give up this marriage. You are forty years old, and you have enjoyed life and..."
Her mother cut her off, crying:
"Not that — never!... I have never enjoyed life, and you know it perfectly well. How often your father deceived me and cheated me and preferred the basest and lowest of women over me. No. I will not be deceived any longer. I will not give up, for anyone's sake, what remains to me of my youth... I shall marry Raymond and I shall live... I want... I want to live... and there is no power on earth that can stand between me and the renewal of my life!"
The girl trembled, and silence reigned for a moment. The pale, dreaming moon went on sending its light down upon them through the open window that overlooked the broad street.
Suddenly, after a long interval had passed, Rose murmured, panting:
"So then, everything is over?"
The mother answered: "Yes."
The girl said in a trembling voice:
"And the date of the wedding? Sunday... next Sunday?..."
Madame Marchand's eye gleamed, and she answered, struggling to hide her delight:
"At ten in the morning, at the Church of the Madeleine...
Raymond loves me, and therefore he cannot hate you. You will live with me. With us. Near us?"
The girl raised her wandering eyes to her and answered:
"I will try... I will try, Mother!..."
The tears ran down from her eyes in spite of herself; she was ashamed of herself, turned, and fled in haste to her chamber, despair storming within her.