Listen to my voice, it is that of a friend. You used to
have in me the confidence a daughter gives to her father, you told me
so; do not, then, refuse my advice. Remain silent and wait. Hide your
grief to all; you might hereafter regret having exposed it. Young,
inexperienced, without a guide, without a mother, alas! you sadly
misplaced your first affections."
"No, sir, no," stammered Claire. "Ah!" she added, "you talk like the
rest of the world, that prudent and egotistical world, which I despise
and hate."
"Poor child," continued M. Daburon, pitiless even in his compassion,
"unhappy young girl! This is your first deception! Nothing more terrible
could be imagined; few women would know how to bear it. But you are
young; you are brave; your life will not be ruined. Hereafter you will
feel horrified at this crime. There is no wound, I know by experience,
which time does not heal."
Claire tried to grasp what the magistrate was saying, but his words
reached her only as confused sounds, their meaning entirely escaped her.
"I do not understand you, sir," she said. "What advice, then, do you
give me?"
"The only advice that reason dictates, and that my affection for you can
suggest, mademoiselle.
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