“You are not deceiving me?”
“No, for I adore you.”
“Then, you no longer want to know me better?”
“No; I know you thoroughly now, and I feel certain that you will make me happy.”
“And will you make me happy, too?”
“I hope so.”
“Let us get up and go to church. Who could have believed that, to get a husband, it was necessary not to go to Venice, but to come back from that city!”
We got up, and, after partaking of some breakfast, we went to hear mass. The morning passed off quickly, but towards dinner-time I thought that Christine looked different to what she did the day before, and I asked her the reason of that change.
“It must be,” she said, “the same reason which causes you to be thoughtful.”
“An air of thoughtfulness, my dear, is proper to love when it finds itself in consultation with honour. This affair has become serious, and love is now compelled to think and consider. We want to be married in the church, and we cannot do it before Lent, now that we are in the last days of carnival; yet we cannot wait until Easter, it would be too long. We must therefore obtain a dispensation in order to be married. Have I not reason to be thoughtful?”