With downcast head she said—
“No, no! It is useless. I have only one wish—to stay by your side just as I am. I shall be very happy.”
“You are not telling me the truth,” exclaimed Lichtenbach, excitedly. “You must tell me what you mean. Do you imagine there are difficulties in the way? Yes? Of what kind? Is it some one I know?”
“Let us say nothing more on the subject, father,” said Marianne. “I was wrong in introducing the subject. It can be nothing but a painful one for both yourself and myself. You had given me warning. But it was too late. The subject shall never be brought up again between us; that I promise you.”
“You could not speak to me otherwise if it were my greatest enemy. Is it so?”
He did not utter the name of Baradier, but Marianne read it upon his lips. She raised her eyes up to her father’s face, as though to ask pardon from him for what he must consider a kind of treason. She did not, however, find in his countenance that angry and threatening expression she dreaded to see there. He was passive and calm, and sat there for a moment without uttering a word. Then, in accents of great deliberation, he asked—
“We are thinking of Marcel Baradier, are we not? Yes, it must be he. I was wrong to let you visit Geneviève de Trémont. That was very imprudent on my part. However, it cannot be helped now. We must try to arrange matters.”
“Arrange matters!” stammered Marianne.
“Yes, my dear child. We must make an attempt. I would do anything to make you happy.”
“Forget your bitter feelings of the past?”