We must make him understand that he is a sort
of temple in which is prepared the future of the race, and we
must teach him that he must transmit, intact, the heritage
entrusted to him--the precious heritage which has been built out
of the tears and miseries and sufferings of an interminable line
of ancestors!"
So the doctor argued. He brought forth case after case to prove
that the prostitute was what she was, not because of innate
vileness, but because of economic conditions. It happened that
the deputy came to one of the clinics where he met Therese. The
doctor brought her into his consulting room, after telling her
that the imposing-looking gentleman was a friend of the director
of the opera, and might be able to recommend her for a position
on the stage to which she aspired. "Tell him all about
yourself," he said, "how you live, and what you do, and what you
would like to do. You will get him interested in you."
So the poor girl retold the story of her life. She spoke in a
matter-of-fact voice, and when she came to tell how she had been
obliged to leave her baby in the foundling asylum, she was
surprised that Monsieur Loches showed horror. "What could I do?"
she demanded. "How could I have taken care of it?"
"Didn't you ever miss it?" he asked.
"Of course I missed it. But what difference did that make? It
would have died of hunger with me."
"Still," he said, "it was your child--"
"It was the father's child, too, wasn't it? Much attention he
paid to it! If I had been sure of getting money enough, I would
have put it out to nurse.
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