"I have seen
all along that neither you nor my brother love me. I am alone in the
world; I like it best!"
"Make yourself worthy of our affection," answered the poor mother,
struck to the very heart, "and we will give it back to you--"
"Nonsense!" he cried, interrupting her.
He took his old hat, rubbed white at the edges, stuck it over one ear,
and went downstairs, whistling.
"Philippe! where are you going without any money?" cried his mother,
who could not repress her tears. "Here, take this--"
She held out to him a hundred francs in gold, wrapped up in paper.
Philippe came up the stairs he had just descended, and took the money.
"Well; won't you kiss me?" she said, bursting into tears.
He pressed his mother in his arms, but without the warmth of feeling
which was all that could give value to the embrace.
"Where shall you go?" asked Agathe.
"To Florentine, Girodeau's mistress. Ah! they are real friends!" he
answered brutally.
He went away. Agathe turned back with trembling limbs, and failing
eyes, and aching heart. She fell upon her knees, prayed God to take
her unnatural child into His own keeping, and abdicated her woeful
motherhood.
CHAPTER VI
By February, 1822, Madame Bridau had settled into the attic room
recently occupied by Philippe, which was over the kitchen of her
former _appartement_. The painter's studio and bedroom was opposite, on
the other side of the staircase. When Joseph saw his mother thus
reduced, he was determined to make her as comfortable as possible.
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