"You know very well that I have!"
"I mean that you like me just as though I were some old relative or another."
"More than that!"
"Well, but you do not love me enough to—to—love me as a husband?"
"I do not know at all. I cannot understand myself just what I feel for you. In the first place, I think you are very nice-looking, and very charming, too; and then, when you are here, I feel as though I am surrounded with care and affection. It seems to me that I breathe more freely, that I am gayer and happier, and I have never, never felt like that before—"
Very much touched by what she was saying, and very anxious, too, about what she was going to say, the count pressed Bijou's arm against his without answering.
"Well, then," she continued, "I thought that, as I liked you better than I have ever yet liked anyone, and that, on the other hand, I should never be able to console myself for having caused you so much sorrow, the best thing would be to marry you."
M. de Clagny stopped short, and asked, in a choked voice:
"Yes."