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"Let us read one of Monsieur Emile's books, Madre," said Vere, with an
awakening of animation. "You know I have never read one, only two or
three baby stories, and articles that don't count."
"Yes, but Emile's books are not quite suitable for you yet, Vere."
"Why, Madre?"
"They are very fine, but they dive deep into life, and life contains
many sad and many cruel things."
"Oughtn't we to prepare ourselves for them, then?"
"Not too soon, I think. I am nearly sure that if you were to read
Emile's books just yet you would regret it."
Vere said nothing.
"Don't you think you can trust me to judge for you in this matter,
figlia mia? I--I am almost certain that Emile himself would think as I
do."
It was not without an effort, a strong effort, that Hermione was able
to speak the last sentence. Vere came nearer to her mother, and stood
before her, as if she were going to say something that was decisive or
important. But she hesitated.
"What is it, Vere?" Hermione asked, gently.


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