“Oh, Aunt Valentine! he would be too happy.”
“Ah, indeed! you seem to know all about it; perhaps you do not care for any assistance in carrying out your wishes?”
Madeleine, blushing and confused, hung her head, and said nothing. Mme. Fauvel drew her toward her, and continued affectionately:
“My dear child, do not be distressed: you have done nothing wrong, and need fear no opposition to your wishes. Is it possible that a person of your penetration supposed us to be in ignorance of your secret? Did you think that Prosper would have been so warmly welcomed by your uncle and myself, had we not approved of him in every respect?”
Madeleine threw her arms around her aunt’s neck, and said:
“Oh, my dear aunt, you make me so happy! I am very grateful for your love and kindness. I am very glad that you are pleased with my choice.”
Mme. Fauvel said to herself:
“I will make Andre speak to Prosper, and before two months are over the marriage must take place. Madeleine once married, I shall have nothing to fear.”
Unfortunately, Mme. Fauvel was so engrossed by her new passion that she put off from day to day her project of hastening the marriage, until it was too late. Spending a portion of each day at the Hotel du Louvre with Raoul, and, when separated from him, devoting her thoughts to insuring him an independent fortune and a good position, she could think of nothing else.
She had not yet spoken to him of money or business.