Sophie had listened to M. Pascal with as much grief as surprise; for she believed, and she had reason to believe, in the reality of the love, or rather the ardent desire for possession that this man felt; so she replied, with deep feeling, for it cost her much to disappoint hopes which seemed to her honourable:
"My poor M. Pascal, you must see that I am distressed not to be able to render you the first service you ask of me. I need not tell you how deeply I regret it."
"What is impossible in it?"
"Believe me, do not think of this marriage."
"Does not Mlle. Antonine deserve—"
"Antonine is an angel. I have known her from infancy. There is not a better heart, a better character, in the world."
"What you tell me, my dear Madame Dutertre, would suffice to augment my desire, if that could be done."
"I say again, this marriage is impossible."
"Well, tell me why."
"In the first place, think of it, Antonine is only fifteen and a half, and you—"