The poor tutor had administered the affairs of Nohant for some
time. He was now called to account for every farthing with the most
malignant accuracy, and a sum of money, lost by ill-management, not
being satisfactorily accounted for, his new tormentor threatened him
with prison and trial. As he muttered to his late pupil that he would
not survive this disgrace, she stepped forward and shielded him after
the fashion of Consuelo.
"I have received this money," said she.
"You? Impossible! What have you done with it?"
"No matter, I have received it."
Deschartres was saved, and Aurore had only availed herself of the first
of a Frenchwoman's privileges. Nor will we reckon with her too harshly
for this lie, so benevolent in intention, so merciful in effect. A lie
sometimes seems the only refuge of the oppressed; but there is always
something better than a lie, if we could only find it out. Here is her
account of the scene itself:--
"To have gone through a series of lies and of false explanations would
not, perhaps, have been possible for me. But from the moment that it was
only necessary to persist in a 'yes' to save Deschartres, I thought that
I ought not to hesitate. My mother insisted:--
"'If M. Deschartres has paid you eighteen thousand francs, we can
easily find it out.
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