"But how could I bear to see my mother weep, my mother who seems to have set her heart upon this marriage?"
"But think of seeing your wife weep, M. Gerald. Your mother has your affection to console her, while your wife, poor orphan that she is, who will console her? No one, or perhaps she will do as so many other women do,—console herself with lovers who are inferior to you in every way. They will torment her, they will disgrace her, perhaps,—another chance of misery for the poor creature!"
The young duke's head drooped, and he answered not a word.
"You asked us to be frank with you, M. Gerald," continued the commander, "and we are, because we love you sincerely."
"I did not doubt that you would be perfectly frank with me, so I ought to be equally so, and say in my defence that in consenting to this marriage I was influenced by another and not altogether ungenerous sentiment. You remember that I spoke of Macreuse, the other day, Olivier?"
"That miserable wretch who put little birds' eyes out with pins!" cried the veteran, upon whom this incident had evidently made a deep impression, "that hypocrite who is now a hanger-on of the clergy?"
"The same, commander. Well, he is one of the aspirants for Mlle. de Beaumesnil's hand."
"Macreuse!" exclaimed Olivier. "Poor girl, but he has no chance of success, has he?"
"My mother says not, but I fear that he has; for the Church supports Macreuse's claims, and the Church is very powerful."
"Such a scoundrel as that succeed!" cried the old officer. "It would be shameful!"