“That’s of no consequence; we can marry and be happy without it.”
“True, but you ought not to despise your dower.”
“Good heavens! what dower? He has no money!”
“But on the death of his father, the Marquis Desarmoises . . . . ”
“That’s all a lie. My father has only a small yearly pension for having served thirty years as a Government messenger. His father has been dead these thirty years, and my mother and my sister only live by the work they do.”
I was thunderstruck at the impudence of the fellow, who, after imposing on me so long, had himself put me in a position to discover his deceit. I said nothing. Just then we were told that supper was ready, and we sat at table for three hours talking the matter over. The poor wounded man had only to listen to me to know my feelings on the subject. His young mistress, as witty as she was pretty, jested on the foolish passion of her father, who had loved her madly ever since she was eleven.
“And you were always able to resist his attempts?” said I.
“Yes, whenever he pushed things too far.”
“And how long did this state of things continue?”
“For two years. When I was thirteen he thought I was ripe, and tried to gather the fruit; but I began to shriek, and escaped from his bed stark naked, and I went to take refuge with my mother, who from that day forth would not let me sleep with him again.”