"Oh! no, you know your father! His word is sacred, but it cost him a
great deal. My dear little girl, never let him regret it."

Esperance put her finger across her mother's lips. "Mama, you know
that I am honest and honourable, how can I help it when I am the child
of two darlings as good as you and papa? My longing for the theatre is
stronger than I can tell. I believe that if papa had refused his
permission, it would have made me unhappy and that I should have
fallen ill and pined away. You remember how, about a year ago, I
almost died of anaemia and consumption. Really, mother dear, my
illness was simply caused by my overstrung nerves. I had often heard
papa express his disapproval of the theatre; and you, you remember,
said one day, in reference to the suicide of a well-known actress,
'Ah, her poor mother, God keep me from seeing my daughter on the
stage!'"

Madame Darbois was silent for a moment; then two tears rolled quietly
from beneath her eyelids and a little sob escaped her.

"Ah! mama, mama," cried Esperance, "have pity, don't let me see you
suffer so. I feared it; I did not want to be sure of it. I am an
ungrateful daughter. You love me so much! You have indulged me so! I
ought to give in. I can not, and your grief will kill me. I suffered
so yesterday, out driving, feeling papa so far away. I kept feeling as
if he were holding himself aloof in an effort to forget, and now you
are crying.... Mama, it is terrible! I must make myself give you back
your happiness--at least your peace of mind. Alas!--I can not give you
back your happiness, for I think that I shall die if I cannot have my
way."