She was wondering whether she should be to her daughter a comrade or a ruler, a confederate or a policeman.

Of course in all probability the thing would be better stopped.

But could this be accomplished by immediate action, or could she invite confidences and yet commit herself to nothing?
She raised her eyes.
"I do not approve of youthful marriages," she said.
"O Mama! And you were only eighteen yourself." "That is why." Mathilde was frightened not only by the intense bitterness of her mother's tone, but also by the obvious fact that she was face to face with the explanation of the separation of her parents.

She had been only nine years old at the time.

She had loved her father, had found him a better playfellow than her mother, had wept bitterly at parting with him, and had missed him.