She wrapped herself in a shawl and went out, and they began to walk side by side upon the white-sanded alleys which the full moon, streaming over lawn and shrubbery, illuminated as if they had been little winding rivers of silver.
After a silence that had lasted for quite a while, M. de Pradon said in a low voice: "My dear child, you will do me the justice to admit that I have never troubled you with my counsels?"
She felt what was coming, and was prepared to meet his attack. "Pardon me, papa," she said, "but you did give me one, at least."
"I did?"
"Yes, yes."
"A counsel relating to your way of life?"
"Yes; and a very bad one it was, too. And so, if you give me any more, I have made up my mind not to follow them."
"What was the advice that I gave you?"
"You advised me to marry M. de Burne. That goes to show that you are lacking in judgment, in clearness of insight, in acquaintance with mankind in general and with your daughter in particular."
"Yes I made a mistake on that occasion; but I am sure that I am right in the very paternal advice that I feel called upon to give you at the present juncture."