Poor Cayrol made a piteous face. Jeanne looked at him as she had never looked before. It made his blood boil.
"Would you be so very ridiculous for having been delicate and tender?"
"I don't see what tenderness has to do with it," cried Cayrol; "on the contrary! But I love you. You don't seem to think it!"
"Prove it," replied Jeanne, more provokingly.
This time Cayrol lost all patience.
"Is it in leaving you that I shall prove it? Really, Jeanne, I am disposed to be kind and to humor your whims, but on condition that they are reasonable. You seem to be making fun of me! If I give way on such important points on the day of our marriage, whither will you lead me? No; no! You are my wife. The wife must follow her husband; the law says so!"
"Is it by law only that you wish to keep me? Have you forgotten what I told you when you made me an offer of marriage? It is my hand only which I give you."
"And I answered you, that it would be my aim to gain your heart. Well, but give me the means. Come, dear," said the banker in a resolute tone, "you take me for a child. I am not so simple as that! I know what this resistance means; charming modesty so long as it is not everlasting."
Jeanne turned away without answering. Her face had changed its expression; it was hard and determined.
"Really," continued Cayrol, "you would make a saint lose patience. Come, answer me, what does this attitude mean?"