"Listen, mother," said Gerald, gravely, but tenderly; "I am an honest man, and being such, I confess that I love pleasure above all things, consequently I should make a detestable husband, even for the richest heiress in France."
"A colossal fortune—an unheard-of fortune!" faltered Madame de Senneterre, stupefied by this refusal on the part of her son. "An income of over three million francs! Think of it!"
"But I love pleasure and my liberty more!"
"What you say is abominable!" cried Madame de Senneterre, almost beside herself. "Why, you are an idiot, and worse than an idiot!"
"But, my dear mother, I love independence, and gay suppers and good times, generally,—in short, the life of a bachelor. I still have six years of such joyous existence before me, and I wouldn't sacrifice them for all the money in the world; besides," added Gerald, more seriously, "I really couldn't be mean enough to make a poor girl I had married for her money as miserable as she was ridiculous. Besides, mother, you know very well that I absolutely refused to buy a substitute to go and be killed in my stead, so you can not wonder that I refuse to sell myself for any woman's millions."
"But, my son—"
"My dear mother, it is just this. Your M. de Macreuse,—and if you really have any regard for him, don't hold him up to me again as a model, or I shall break all the canes I possess over his back,—your M. de Macreuse, who is so devout, would probably not have the same scruples that I, a mere pagan, have. But such as I am, such I shall remain, and love you even more than ever, my dear mother," added Gerald, kissing the hand of the duchess respectfully.
There are strange coincidences in this life of ours.
Gerald had scarcely uttered M. de Macreuse's name before a servant rapped at the door, and, on being told to enter, announced that M. de Macreuse wished to see the duchess in regard to a very important matter.
"Did you tell him that I was at home?" asked Madame de Senneterre.