"No, no," said Geneviève, blushing.
"And yet you said your maiden name was Geneviève du Treilly."
"Frankly, Monsieur Maurice, my family was rich, but had no claim to nobility."
"You do not trust me," said the young man, smiling.
"Oh, yes! I do," replied Geneviève. "In America my father was connected with the father of Monsieur Morand. Monsieur Dixmer was managing man to Monsieur Morand. We were ruined, and Monsieur Morand, knowing that Monsieur Dixmer was a man of independent fortune, presented him to my father, who in his turn presented him to me. I saw that my father had beforehand resolved on my marriage. I understood it was the wish of my family. I did not love Monsieur Dixmer, neither had I ever loved any one, but I accepted him.
"I have now been Dixmer's wife for three years, and I am bound to say that he has proved to me so good and excellent a husband, that notwithstanding the difference of taste and the disparity of age you have remarked, I have never even for a moment experienced the slightest feeling of regret."
"But," said Maurice, "when you married Monsieur Dixmer he was not at the head of this manufactory."
"No, we lived at Blois. After the 10th of August Monsieur Dixmer purchased this house and the adjoining workshops; and that I might not be annoyed by the workmen, and to spare me the sight of many things repulsive to a person of my habits,—which are, as you observed, Maurice, a little aristocratic,—he gave me this pavilion, where I live alone, retired, gratifying my various fancies and desires, and happy when a friend like yourself, Maurice, comes either to distract or partake in my reveries."
And Geneviève tendered her hand to Maurice, which he ardently kissed. Geneviève blushed slightly.
"Now, my friend," said the young woman, drawing away her hand, "you know how I became the wife of Monsieur Dixmer."