"You are very much in love with this woman?"

"You see it, father, since she has made me fail in duty toward you, for
which I humbly ask your forgiveness to-day."

My father, no doubt, was not expecting such categorical answers, for he
seemed to reflect a moment, and then said to me: "You have, of course, realized that you can not always live like that?"

"I fear so, father, but I have not realized it."

"But you must realize," continued my father, in a dryer tone, "that I,
at all events, should not permit it."

"I have said to myself that as long as I did nothing contrary to the
respect which I owe to the traditional probity of the family I could
live as I am living, and this has reassured me somewhat in regard to the
fears I have had."

Passions are formidable enemies to sentiment. I was prepared for every
struggle, even with my father, in order that I might keep Marguerite.

"Then, the moment is come when you must live otherwise."

"Why, father?"

"Because you are doing things which outrage the respect that you imagine
you have for your family."

"I don't follow your meaning."

"I will explain it to you. Have a mistress if you will; pay her as a
man of honour is bound to pay the woman whom he keeps, by all means; but
that you should come to forget the most sacred things for her, that
you should let the report of your scandalous life reach my quiet
countryside, and set a blot on the honourable name that I have given
you, it can not, it shall not be."