“Madame,” he answered, “I will not touch it.”
She struck herself upon her withered breast.
“Behold me!” she said. “_Me!_ I am seventy years old! Good God! seventy!
I am a bad old woman, and it is said I do not repent of my sins. I, too,
have been a beautiful young girl. I, too, had my first lover. I, too,
married a man who had not won my heart. It does not matter that the
husband was worthy and the lover was not,--one learns that too late. My
fate was what your wife’s will be if you will not sacrifice your pride
and save her.”
“Pride!” he echoed in a bitter, hollow voice. “My pride, Madame!”