Parker, Gilbert, 1860-1932 / 2008-07-23 00:00:00
But yet this was different. There was no such shame here as had fallen
on him seven years ago. But there was a shame after its kind; and if it
were not averted, there was the end of the home, of the prestige, the
pride and the hope of "M'sieu' Jean Jacques, philosophe."
"What shall not begin here at the Manor Cartier?" she asked with burning
cheek.
"The shame--it shall not begin here."
"What shame, father?"
"Of marriage with a Protestant and an actor."
"You will not let me marry him?" she persisted stubbornly.
Her words seemed to shake him all to pieces. It was as though he was
going through the older tragedy all over again. It had possessed him
ever since the sight of Carmen's guitar had driven him mad three hours
ago. He swayed to and fro, even as he did when his hand left the lever
and he let the master-carpenter go free. It was indeed a philosopher
under torture, a spirit rocking on its anchor. Just now she had put into
words herself what, even in his fear, he had hoped had no place in her
mind--marriage with the man.
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