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."