from public life, and your day will be done. Men will point at you as
you pass along the street, and say: 'There goes Barode Barouche. He was
a great man in his day. He was defeated by a boy with a painter's brush
in his hand.' He will take from you your livelihood. You will go, and
he will stay; he will conquer and grow strong. Go from me, Barode
Barouche," she cried, thrusting out her hands against him, "go from me.
I love my son with all my soul. His father has no place in my heart."

There had been upon him the wild passion of revenge. It had mastered
him before she spoke, and while she spoke, but, as she finished, the
understanding spirit of him conquered. Instead of telling her of Luzanne
Larue, and of what he would do if he found things going against him,
instead of that he resolved to say naught. He saw he could not conquer
her. For a minute after she had ceased speaking, he watched her in
silence, and in his eyes was a remorse which would never leave them.
She was master.

Slowly, and with a sense of defeat, he said to her: "Well, we shall never
meet again like this. The fight goes on. I will defeat Carnac. No, do
not shake your head. He shall not put me from my place. For you and me
there is no future--none; yet I want to say to you before we part for
ever now, that you have been deeper in my life than any other woman
since I was born."

He said no more. Catching up his hat from the chair, and taking his
stick, he left the room. He opened the front door, stepped out, shut it
behind him and, in a moment, was lost in the night.