"
"How not a wrong in him?"
"It may have been my fault. There must be love in both--great love, for
it to last."
"And if the woman loved him not at all?"
"Where, then, could be the wrong in him?"
"And if he went from you,"--here her voice grew dry and her words were
sharp,--"and took a woman from the depths of--oh, no matter what! and
made her commit--crime--and was himself a criminal?"
"It is horrible to think of; but I should ask myself how much I was to
blame. . . . What would you ask yourself, madame?"
"You have a strain of the angel in you, Justine. You would forgive Judas
if he said, 'Peccavi.' I have a strain of Satan--it was born in me--I
would say, You have sinned, now suffer."
"God give you a softer heart," said Justine, with tender boldness and
sincerity.
At this Mrs. Falchion started slightly, and trouble covered her face. She
assumed, however, a tone almost brusque, artificially airy and
unimportant.
"There, that will do, thank you. . . . We have become serious and
incomprehensible. Let us talk of other things. I want to be gay. . . .
Amuse me."
Arrived at the hotel, she told Justine that she must not be disturbed
till near dinner-time, and withdrew to her sitting-room.
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