When they were alone, Madame Rameau took Isaura's hand in both her own,
and, gazing wistfully into her face, said, "No wonder you are so loved--
yours is the beauty that sinks into the hearts and rests there. I prize
my boy more, now that I have seen you. But, oh, Mademoiselle! pardon me
--do not withdraw your hand--pardon the mother who comes from the sick-
bed of her only son and asks if you will assist to save him! A word from
you is life or death to him!"
"Nay, nay, do not speak thus, Madame; your son knows how much I value,
how sincerely I return, his friendship; but--but," she paused a moment,
and continued sadly and with tearful eyes--"I have no heart to give to
him-to any one."
"I do not--I would not if I dared--ask what it would be violence to
yourself to promise. I do not ask you to bid me return to my son and
say, 'Hope and recover,' but let me take some healing message from your
lips. If I understand your words rightly, I at least may say that you do
not give to another the hopes you, deny to him?"
"So far you understand me rightly, Madame. It has been said, that
romance-writers give away so much of their hearts to heroes or heroines
of their own creation, that they leave nothing worth the giving to human
beings like themselves. Perhaps it is so; yet, Madame," added Isaura,
with a smile of exquisite sweetness in its melancholy, "I have heart
enough left to feel for you."
Madame Rameau was touched. "Ah, Mademoiselle, I do not believe in the
saying you have quoted. But I must not abuse your goodness by pressing
further upon you subjects from which you shrink. Only one word more: you
know that my husband and I are but quiet tradesfolks, not in the society,
nor aspiring to it, to which my son's talents have raised himself; yet
dare I ask that you will not close here the acquaintance that I have
obtruded on you?--dare I ask, that I may, now and then, call on you--that
now and then I may see you at my own home? Believe that I would not here
ask anything which your own mother would disapprove if she overlooked
disparities of station. Humble as our home is, slander never passed its
threshold."
"Ah, Madame, I and the Signora Venosta, whom in our Italian tongue I call
mother, can but feel honoured and grateful whenever it pleases you to
receive visits from us."
"It would be a base return for such gracious compliance with my request
if I concealed from you the reason why I pray Heaven to bless you for
that answer. The physician says that it may be long before my son is
sufficiently convalescent to dispense with a mother's care, and resume
his former life and occupation in the great world. It is everything for
us if we can coax him into coming under our own roof-tree. This is
difficult to do. It is natural for a young man launched into the world
to like his own _chez lui_. Then what will happen to Gustave? He,
lonely and heart-stricken, will ask friends, young as himself, but far
stronger, to come and cheer him; or he will seek to distract his thoughts
by the overwork of his brain; in either case he is doomed. But I have
stronger motives yet to fix him a while at our hearth. This is just the
moment, once lost never to be regained, when soothing companionship,
gentle reproachless advice, can fix him lastingly in the habits and modes
of life which will banish all fears of his future from the hearts of his
parents. You at least honour him with friendship, with kindly interest
--you at least would desire to wean him from all that a friend may
disapprove or lament--a creature whom Providence meant to be good, and
perhaps great. If I say to him, 'It will be long before you can go out
and see your friends, but at my house your friends shall come and see
you--among them Signora Venosta and Mademoiselle Cicogna will now and
then drop in'--my victory is gained, and my son is saved."
"Madame," said Isaura, half sobbing, "what a blessing to have a mother
like you! Love so noble ennobles those who hear its voice. Tell your
son how ardently I wish him to be well, and to fulfil more than the
promise of his genius; tell him also this--how I envy him his mother."