"But what? my age? Do you suppose I propose to play the lover? No! thank God, I never had that weakness, and I don't propose to make myself ridiculous at my age. I simply propose to be your father by contract, and to employ marriage as a means of making you my heiress. Well, that's enough of talk. You must say yes or no, for I am not of a disposition to remain in doubt, and I don't choose to be humiliated, do you understand?"
Monsieur Antoine spoke in a curiously imperious tone; Julie was afraid that a refusal would exasperate him.
"You go too fast," she said; "as it happens, I am naturally hesitating and timid. You must give me time to reflect."
"Then you don't say no?" rejoined the old man, evidently flattered by the hope that he was allowed to retain.
"I say nothing," replied Madame d'Estrelle, who had risen and was walking toward her house with some anxiety. "At this moment I am utterly bewildered by an offer which I did not expect. Give me a few days to think, to consult my feelings.—Really, I am deeply moved, deeply touched by your friendship, and also very much alarmed, for I had sworn to remain free! Adieu, Monsieur Thierry, leave me! I really long to be left alone with my conscience, and I do not want you to try to take it by surprise by your kindness."
Julie made her escape, and Uncle Antoine left the garden, forgetting the pavilion, the picture, the lily, everything, and in the throes of a fever of hope which made him act more like a madman than ever; but, when he found himself on Rue de Babylone, in front of the pavilion, he was seized with a fierce longing to torment and puzzle and confound his relations. He rang and was admitted by Marcel, who was anxiously awaiting the result of his interview with Julie.
"Well," he said abruptly, "where is my plant? has Master Julien finished my picture?"
"Go into the studio," said Marcel; "you will see your picture all finished, and your lily as fresh as if nothing had happened to it."
"Oh! yes," muttered Antoine satirically, "of course it did it good to be broken!"
And he entered the studio with his hat on, without glancing at or seeing his sister-in-law, who was sitting in her little straw arm-chair in the window-recess, thoughtful and downcast. He walked straight to his lily, examined the fracture, and looked carefully at the flower, which was still blooming in the moist earth. Then he looked at the picture of the Antonia and said: