"Oh, make no conditions, monseigneur."
"Why?"
"Frankly, monseigneur, can I pledge myself to anything? Does not all depend on you and not on me? You must please me, that concerns you."
"Oh! what a woman you are!" said the prince, with vexation. "But, really, shall I please you? Do you think I can please you?"
"My faith, monseigneur, I know nothing about it. You have done nothing so far but receive me with rudeness, I can truthfully say."
"My God! I was wrong, forgive me; if you only knew the uneasiness, I might almost say the fear, that you inspire in me, my dear marquise!"
"Come, I forgive you the past, monseigneur, and promise you to allow myself to be captivated with the best will in the world, and, as I am very frank, I will even add that it does seem to me that I would like you so much that you might succeed."
"Truly!" cried the prince, transported.
"Yes; you are half a sovereign, and you perhaps will be one some day, and there may be all sorts of good and beautiful things for you to order through the influence of this consuming passion you have just branded like a real capuchin,—allow me the expression. Come, monseigneur, if the good God has put this passion in all his creatures, he knew what he was doing. It is an immense power, because, in the hope of satisfying it, those who are under its influence are capable of everything, even the most generous actions, is it not true, monseigneur?"
"So," added the prince, with increasing rapture, "I can hope—"