‘I do assure you, dear Mary, Virginie knows. So lock up her words in your little heart; you will want them some day.’
There was a pause of some moments, while the lady was watching the course of a cricket through the clover. At last, lifting her head, she spoke very gravely,—
‘My little cat! it is dreadful to be married to a good man, and want to be good, and want to love him, and yet never like to have him take your hand, and be more glad when he is away than when he is at home; and then to think how different it would all be, if it was only somebody else. That will be the way with you, if you let them lead you into this; so don’t you do it, mon enfant.’
A thought seemed to cross Mary’s mind, as she turned to Madame de Frontignac, and said, earnestly,—
‘If a good man were my husband, I would never think of another,—I wouldn’t let myself.’
‘How could you help it, mignonne? Can you stop your thinking?’
Mary said, after a moment’s blush,—
‘I can try!’
‘Ah, yes! But to try all one’s life,—oh, Mary, that is too hard! Never do it, darling!’