could not allow one so dear to him to be prescribed for and nursed by
anyone but himself.

"I know what the malady is," he continued, raising his eyes to heaven;
"it is one that has to be concealed rather than acknowledged. Poor youth!
whom I love as my own son, if God, touched by my tears and thy suffering,
permits me to save thee, thy whole life will be too short for thy
blessings and thy gratitude!" And as Madame Martin asked what this
malady might be, he answered with hypocritical blushes--

"Do not ask, madame; there are things of which you do not know even the
name."

At another time, Martin expressed his surprise that the young man's
mother had not yet appeared, who, according to Derues, was to have met
him at Versailles. He asked how she could know that they were lodging in
his house, and if he should send to meet her at any place where she was
likely to arrive.

"His mother," said Derues, looking compassionately at Edouard, who lay
pale, motionless, and as if insensible,--"his mother! He calls for her
incessantly. Ah! monsieur, some families are greatly to be pitied! My
entreaties prevailed on her to decide on coming hither, but will she keep
her promise? Do not ask me to tell you more; it is too painful to have
to accuse a mother of having forgotten her duties in the presence of her
son . . . there are secrets which ought not to be told--unhappy
woman!"

Edouard moved, extended his arms, and repeated, "Mother! . . .
mother!"