The physician shook his head.
“Excuse me, you are no longer in France, Monsieur d’Escorval, you are in Piedmont.”
“Another difficulty!”
“No, because in this country, people marry, or at least they can marry, without all the formalities that cause you so much anxiety.”
“Is it possible?” Maurice exclaimed.
“Yes, if you can find a priest who will consent to your union, inscribe your name upon his parish register and give you a certificate, you will be so indissolubly united, Mademoiselle Lacheneur and you, that the court of Rome would never grant you a divorce.”
To suspect the truth of these affirmations was difficult, and yet Maurice doubted still.
“So, sir,” he said, hesitatingly, “in case I was able to find a priest——”
The physician was silent. One might have supposed he was blaming himself for meddling with matters that did not concern him.
Then, almost brusquely, he said: