Mother and daughter looked at one another, as if to measure forces, and
then, instead of questioning her as she had intended, the baroness sank
back in her chair and wept aloud. Rose was all unprepared for this. She
almost screamed in a voice of agony, "O mamma! mamma! O God! kill me
where I stand for making my mother weep!"
"My girl," said the baroness in a broken voice, and with the most
touching dignity, "may you never know what a mother feels who finds
herself shut out from her daughters' hearts. Sometimes I think it is my
fault; I was born in a severer age. A mother nowadays seems to be a sort
of elder sister. In my day she was something more. Yet I loved my mother
as well, or better than I did my sisters. But it is not so with those I
have borne in my bosom, and nursed upon my knee."
At this Rose flung herself, sobbing and screaming, at her mother's
knees. The baroness was alarmed. "Come, dearest, don't cry like that. It
is not too late to take your poor old mother into your confidence. What
is this mystery? and why this sorrow? How comes it I intercept at every
instant glances that were not intended for me? Why is the very air
loaded with signals and secrecy? (Rose replied only by sobs.
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