Mariotte was not inquisitive; she was part of the family; and she left
the room without waiting to hear what the baroness would say to her
son.

"Are you going again to Les Touches, my Calyste?" The baroness
emphasized the /my/. "Les Touches is not a respectable or decent
house. Its mistress leads an irregular life; she will corrupt our
Calyste. Already Camille Maupin has made him read many books; he has
had adventures--You knew all that, my naughty child, and you never
said one word to your best friends!"

"The chevalier is discreet," said his father,--"a virtue of the olden
time."

"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