It is quite useless to repeat the remainder of the interview. We might describe certain interludes of dismay and discouragement, when Gilberte, becoming reasonable, that is to say miserable, once more, pointed out obstacles and manifested a pride which, while not strongly marked, was sufficiently intense to lead her to prefer eternal solitude to the humiliation of a struggle against arrogance and wealth. We might tell by what honorable and manly arguments Emile sought to restore her confidence. But the strongest arguments, those to which Gilberte found no reply, are those which we cannot transcribe, for they were all enthusiasm and ingenuous pantomime.
Lovers are not eloquent after the manner of rhetoricians, and their words written down have never had much meaning for those to whom they were not addressed. If we could remember in cooler moments the insignificant remark that caused us to lose our wits, we should not understand how it could be and should jeer at ourselves.
But the tone and the glance find magical resources in passion, and Emile soon succeeded in persuading Gilberte of what he himself believed at that moment: namely that nothing was simpler or easier than for them to marry, consequently that nothing was more legitimate and necessary than that they should love each other with all their strength.
The noble-hearted girl loved Emile too dearly to harbor the thought that he was a rash and presumptuous youth. He said that he would overcome any possible resistance on his father's part, and Gilberte knew nothing of Monsieur Cardonnet except by vague rumors. Emile guaranteed his loving mother's consent and that assurance set Gilberte's conscience at rest. She soon shared all his illusions, and it was agreed that he should speak to his father before applying to Monsieur Antoine.
A selfish or ambitious girl would have been more prudent. She would have made the avowal of her feelings depend upon harsher conditions. She would have refused to see her lover again until such time as he should come prepared to go through with all the formalities, including the request for her hand. But Gilberte's mind never entertained such precautions.
She felt in her heart a something infinite, a faith in and respect for her lover's word, which had no bounds. She was no longer disturbed save by one thing; the thought that she might become a source of discord and affliction in Emile's family on the day that he spoke to his father.
She could entertain no doubt of the victory which he was so certain of winning; but the thought of the battle pained her and she would have liked to postpone the awful moment.
"Listen," she said, with angelic naïveté, "there is no hurry; we are happy as we are, and young enough to wait. I am afraid indeed that will be your father's principal and strongest objection; you are only twenty-one, and he may fear that you have not made your choice with sufficient care, that you have not examined your fiancée's character closely enough. If he talks to you about waiting, and asks for time to reflect, submit to every test. Even if we should not be united for several years, what does it matter, provided that we see each other, since we cannot doubt each other's constancy?"
"Oh! you are a saint!" Emile replied, kissing the edge of her scarf, "and I will be worthy of you."
When they returned to the place where they had left Antoine, they saw him at some distance talking with a miller of his acquaintance, and they went to the foot of the great tower to meet him.