—I have reflected, my dear uncle, as I have had the honour of telling you.
—Your reflections are fine. Well, whether you have reflected or not, is all the same to me. I have taken it into my head that you should go, and you shall go. I will make you happy in spite of yourself, for I have reflected also, and more than ever I said to myself that you most go. Do you want me to enumerate the reasons?
—The same as yesterday I have no doubt.
—No, there is one more, and that is worth all the rest.
—I know what you are going to say to me, but I have my answer all ready.
Speak.
—What! at your age! in your position! Are you not ashamed to fall into errors which would scarcely be pardonable in a seminarist? Ah! you want the dots on the i's, well I am going to place them.
—Place them, uncle, place them.
—Had you not enough girls then in the village without going to lay a claim on the one yonder? On a well-educated young lady, whose fall will cause a scandal, the daughter of an enemy, of a Voltairian, almost a radical, a gaol-bird in fine who will be happy to seize the occasion to raise a terrible outcry, and to proclaim your conduct to the four quarters of the horizon. You see I know all.
—And who has informed you so correctly?
—I know all, I tell you. You can therefore keep your temper. Will you act like the Curé of Larriques?