"Citizen Billaud-Varenne, it shall be as you desire. I shall send away the agents charged with keeping guard over Citizeness Desmarais. Jailers in our hall go ill with a day of betrothal."
"What say you, citizen," ejaculated Billaud-Varenne. "A day of betrothal?"
"The letter I wrote just this instant, was destined to my pupil Lebrenn. I announced to him, very simply, that I offered him the hand of my daughter."
"Your procedure is indeed worthy of praise."
"And now, my daughter," continued Desmarais solemnly, "answer me truthfully. Before your departure from Paris for Lyons, you often saw here our young neighbor Lebrenn. What is your opinion of the young citizen?"
"I think that there is no soul more lofty, no character more generous, no heart better than his. He is a young man of worth."
"You consent to wed him?"
"I consent with all the greater willingness, father, because, unknown to you and mother, I have for a long time loved Monsieur John Lebrenn, the valiant iron-worker. I even believe that my affection is returned."
"The young girl is charming in her grace and candor," thought Billaud-Varenne. "What a strange falling out! These two young people love each other in secret! In very truth, it is a romance, an idyll!"
"What, my daughter, you love our young friend, and he loves you!" cried the lawyer, putting on an air of great surprise. "And you hid your love from me? How comes it that you and our friend John made a mystery of the love you felt for each other?"