“Of course; I know that, but do you like thinking of him as your fiancé?”
“Oh, yes, much better than of one I did not know. He is good and kind.”
“But are you really in love with him?”
“Of course I shall be when he is my husband. It would be quite out of place to say so now.”
“Then I know you are not. I shall never, never consent to marry any one that I do not truly love. My mother chose my father and he chose her. They were madly in love.”
“That happens, of course it happens, but quite the same one’s family make the selection first.”
“It did not happen so in the case of my parents. My mother was traveling in France. She met my father at the house of a friend, and at once they wished to meet again, and so they did, many times. Then my father went over to America and asked her parents, and they were married.”
“That is not the way of my parents. It was all arranged before they met at all. I think I am very fortunate that it is Gaspard who is selected for me by my grandparents. I like him and he likes me.”
To Lucie’s mind this was a very mild way of putting it. Her imagination rioted in more romantic paths.
“Figure to yourself,” Annette went on, “how it would be if your parents were to come to you and say: ‘We have chosen a fiancé for you, an estimable young man’; suppose we say it is Victor; I mention him because he is one you know very well; would you be so foolish as to declare that you would not marry him just because you were not wildly in love with him, a young man of good character, similar tastes, in your own station in life and good prospects? No, no, Lucie, it is because you are so young and inexperienced that you think so. You will change your mind when you are older.”