"But M. de Senneterre speaks very highly of M. Olivier, you say."
"Yes, my dear child, but a man may be an admirable friend and an excellent comrade, and yet make his wife very unhappy."
"How suspicious you are! You forget that M. Olivier thinks me a poor girl—and that—"
"That his gratitude, generosity, and love impelled him to offer you a more brilliant future than one in your supposed position had a right to expect, perhaps. It was a very generous and noble impulse, I admit, and a little while ago I was so touched by it that I allowed myself to become almost as enthusiastic as you and Herminie."
"And has your opinion changed, now?" asked Ernestine, anxiously.
"Now, my child, I judge not only with my heart but with my head; and reason tells me that, though M. Olivier's impulse was highly commendable, it was only an impulse. I do not doubt for an instant that M. Olivier will keep the promise he made you, and that he will act honourably in the matter, but I want to be sure—that is, as sure as one can be of anything in this world—that, in case M. Olivier married you, his whole life would harmonise with the impulse which I admire as much as you do."
Ernestine could not conceal a sort of sorrowful impatience as she listened to these wise and prudent words, and noting this fact, the marquis continued, in a tone that was both grave and affectionate:
"My poor child, the confidence you have in me, the affection I felt for your mother, the very interest I take in your future, all compel me to say this, though it may disappoint and grieve you. But I promise you that, if I find M. Olivier is worthy of you, I will devote myself body and soul to overcoming the obstacles that stand in the way of your marriage."
"Ernestine, we must trust M. de Maillefort implicitly, blindly," Herminie said to her friend. "The responsibility he assumes is so great, we must not hamper him in any way. Besides, instead of opposing the inquiries he intends to make, you should urge him to make them as searching as possible, for, believe me, they will only prove still more conclusively that M. Olivier is worthy of you."
"That is true, Herminie; and you, M. de Maillefort, will forgive me, I trust," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil. "I was wrong, but, alas! with my only chance of happiness at stake, you can perhaps understand my terror and my wretchedness at the thought that I may lose it."