" And she looked at Godefroid angrily.
"Good God!" cried the poor fellow, in distress, the tears coming into
his eyes.
"Come, sit down," said Monsieur Alain, sitting down himself. Then he
made a pause as if to gather up his ideas. "I don't know," he went on,
"if I have the talent to worthily relate a life so cruelly tried. You
must excuse me if the words of so poor a speaker as I are beneath the
level of its actions and catastrophes. Remember that it is long since
I left school, and that I am the child of a century in which men cared
more for thought than for effect,--a prosaic century which knew only
how to call things by their right names."
Godefroid made an acquiescing gesture, with an expression of sincere
admiration, and said simply, "I am listening."
"You have just had a proof, my young friend," resumed the old man,
"that it is impossible you should remain among us without knowing at
least some of the terrible facts in the life of that saintly woman.
There are ideas and illusions and fatal words which are completely
interdicted in this house, lest they reopen wounds in Madame's heart,
and cause a suffering which, if again renewed, might kill her."
"Good God!" cried Godefroid, "what have I done?"
"If Monsieur Joseph had not stopped the words on your lips, you were
about to speak of that fatal instrument of death, and that would have
stricken down Madame de la Chanterie like a thunderbolt.
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