"You don't know him, mamma. He is a gentleman; he understands all these
delicacies, and there is more to be gained by submitting one's self to
his discretion, than by trying to resist his will. You blame his manner
of existence, but you don't understand him. I know him. He belongs to a
different race than you and I. He needs refinements of luxury which
would be useless to us, but the deprivation of which would be hard to
him. He suffered much when he was poor, he is making up for it now.
We are guilty of some extravagances, 'tis true; but what does it matter?
For whom have you made a fortune? For me! For what object? My
happiness! Well, I am happy to surround my Prince with the glory and
pomp which suits him so well. He is grateful to me; he loves me, and I
hold his love dearer than all else in the world; for if ever he ceases to
love me I shall die!"

"Micheline!" cried Madame Desvarennes, beside herself, and seizing her
daughter with nervous strength.

The young wife quietly allowed her fair head to fall on her mother's
shoulder, and whispered faintly in her ear:

"You don't want to wreck my life. I understand your displeasure. It is
natural; I feel it. You cannot think otherwise than you do, being a
simple, hardworking woman; but I beg of you to banish all hatred, and
confine these ideas within yourself. Say nothing more about them for
love of me!"

The mother was vanquished. She had never been able to resist that
suppliant voice.