“You have not forgotten him, then?”
She trembled; a faint blush suffused her cheeks and forehead, but it was in a calm voice that she replied: “Maurice knows that it would be impossible for me to forget him, even if I wished to do so.”
“And yet you told him that you approved your father’s decision!”
“Yes, I told him so; and I shall have the courage to repeat it.”
“But you have made Maurice most wretched and unhappy, my dear child; he almost died of grief.”
She raised her head proudly, looked M. d’Escorval fully in the face and answered, “Do you think then that I haven’t suffered myself?”
M. d’Escorval was abashed for a moment; but speedily recovering himself, he took hold of Marie-Anne’s hand and, pressing it affectionately, exclaimed: “So Maurice loves you, and you love him; you are both suffering: he has nearly died of grief and still you reject him!”
“It must be so, sir.”
“You say this, my dear child—you say this, and you undoubtedly believe it. But I, who have sought to discover the necessity of this immense sacrifice, have quite failed to find any plausible reason. Explain to me why it must be so, Marie-Anne. Have you no confidence in me? Am I not an old friend? It may be that your father in his despair has adopted extreme resolutions. Let me know them and we will conquer them together. Lacheneur knows how deeply I am attached to him. I will speak to him: he will listen to me.”
“I can tell you nothing, sir.”