Some one who has been here to egager our little meetings
will come no more.
Ethel. Is the Abbe de Florac going to quit Paris, madam?
Madame de F. It is not of him that I speak, thou knowest it very well,
my daughter. Thou hast seen my poor Clive twice here. He will come once
again, and then no more. My conscience reproaches me that I have admitted
him at all. But he is like a son to me, and was so confided to me by his
father. Five years ago, when we met, after an absence--of how many
years!--Colonel Newcome told me what hopes he had cherished for his boy.
You know well, my daughter, with whom those hopes were connected. Then he
wrote me that family arrangements rendered his plans impossible--that the
hand of Miss Newcome was promised elsewhere. When I heard from my son
Paul how these negotiations were broken, my heart rejoiced, Ethel, for my
friend's sake. I am an old woman now, who have seen the world, and all
sorts of men. Men more brilliant no doubt I have known, but such a heart
as his, such a faith as his, such a generosity and simplicity as Thomas
Newcome's--never!
Ethel (smiling).
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