"I am thirty-eight. Is it that?"
"The difference of age is very great, you must confess, and as I would not advise my daughter or my sister to make a marriage so disproportionate, I cannot advise Antonine to do so, because I would not at any price make your unhappiness or hers."
"Oh, make yourself easy! I will answer for my own happiness."
"And that of Antonine?"
"Bah! bah! for a few years, more or less—"
"I married for love, my dear M. Pascal. I do not comprehend other marriages. Perhaps it is wrong, but indeed I think so, and I ought to tell you so, since you consult me."
"According to you, then, I am not capable of pleasing Mlle. Antonine?"
"I believe that, like Charles and myself, and like all generous hearts, she would appreciate the nobility of your character, but—"
"Permit me again, my dear Madame Dutertre,—a child of fifteen years has no settled ideas on the subject of marriage; and Mlle. Antonine has a blind confidence in you. Present me to her; tell her all sorts of good about the good man, Pascal. The affair is sure,—if you wish to do it, you can."
"Hear me, my dear M. Pascal, this conversation grieves me more than I can tell you, and to put an end to it I will trust a secret to your discretion and your loyalty."