Even Mme. Darbois had
withdrawn, afraid that she might show her own anxiety too much.
"I am listening to you, papa."
"You are going to answer my questions with perfect frankness,
Esperance?"
"Yes, father."
"Had you thought of writing to Countess Styvens before you read that
letter?"
He drew the Academician's letter from his portfolio and placed it
before her.
"No, father, dear."
"Then it was on my account, and to facilitate my admittance to the
Academy, that you wrote?"
"Oh! no," replied Esperance quickly, "I would not do you that
injustice, knowing how much you love me, and knowing the purity of
your heart, the nobility of your ambition. I am sacrificing what I
believe, perhaps wrongly, to be my happiness, to the demands of a
misunderstanding world. I knew, when I read that letter, that I had no
right to drag a man of your merit, my dear mother, and all the family,
into the troubles of a life in which they have no real interest. I did
not want you to have the sympathy of the world. Sympathy is too often
akin to scorn!"
Francois would have spoken, but Esperance interrupted him.
"Oh! father darling. You are so good. Don't torment me further, send
the letter. I am still so new to this role. I need your sincere, your
constant help."
Just then Marguerite came in and handed the philosopher a letter,
bearing an armorial seal, which had just come from Palais. He quickly
opened it, seemed surprised and passed it to his daughter.
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