“As your aunt, were you going to say, Citizen?” interrupted Mme de Trélan with, a gleam. “But I am afraid that I cannot aspire to that honour. It is only by marriage that I am related to Suzon.”
“I fear you are mocking me, Madame,” said Camain in a tone of relish. “You must be well aware that I do not conceive of you as my aunt.” His hand was creeping towards her along the back of the seat, over the tangled honeysuckle.
“I am nearly forty-five years old, Monsieur le Député,” said Valentine in a very repressive voice. “Old enough to be a grandmother.” She rose. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must be getting back to my work.”
“But that is just what I do not wish you to do, Madame Vidal,” interposed Camain, getting to his feet with even greater alacrity. “Oblige me by sitting down a moment, and by listening to what I have to say.”
As his not inconsiderable bulk blocked the only egress from the seat there was nothing for it but to comply, and this, after a momentary hesitation, Mme de Trélan did.
“You must by this time,” began Camain, clearing his throat, “have become aware, Madame, of my profound admiration for you.”
“I know that you have shown me great consideration, Citizen,” responded Valentine, “and I assure you that it has been appreciated.”
“It would be impossible for me to do too much to show my regard for you,” said the Deputy earnestly. “Your talents, Madame, your character, your gifts of heart and brain—you must forgive me if I point out (what you must surely know) that they are thrown away upon your present situation.”
“Is that a kind way of intimating, Monsieur le Député, that you wish me to resign it?” enquired Valentine, immensely relieved at the goal towards which, after all, the conversation appeared to be making.
“You have hit the nail on the head,” replied M. Camain with a peculiar smile. “I do wish you to resign this post, so unworthy of your sensibilities and your education. I wish to remove you, with your consent, to another, which I dare to flatter myself will be less unworthy of you.”