Victorine was faithful to Dupin;
and poor and handsome as she was, never wronged him by a loose look.
Well, Dupin's father said his son must marry, and the son saw how
reasonable and how necessary the proposal was. He did marry, and he
cut himself adrift from Victorine without the least compunction,
allowing her a small sum weekly, insufficient to keep her. There was
no scene when they parted, for his determination was communicated to
her by letter. Three months afterwards she had a child of whom he
was the father. Did she quietly take the money and say nothing? Did
she tear up the letter in a frenzy and return him the fragments? She
did neither. She wrote to him and told him that she would not touch
his gold. She would never forget him, but she could not be beholden
to him now for a crust of bread. She had done no wrong hitherto--so
she said, Mrs. Coleman; I only repeat her words--they are not mine.
But to live on him after he had left her would be a mortal crime. So
they separated, a victim she--both victims, I may say--to this cursed
thing we call Society. One of the conditions on which the money was
to have been given was, that she should never again recognise him in
any way whatever.
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