“Not at all. It is of her and of myself that I wish to speak. Do not be uneasy. I hope that what I am going to say will not be a cause of sadness to you.”
“Pardon me if I always see something to fear. We have been so frightfully tried, so unjustly!”
He interrupted her, for these complaints did not please him.
“For a long time,” he said quickly, “Mademoiselle Phillis has inspired me with a deep sentiment of esteem and tenderness; I have not been able to see her so courageous, so brave in adversity, so decided in her character, so good to you, so charming, without loving her, and I have come to ask you to give her to me as my wife.”
At Saniel’s words, Madame Cormier’s hands began to tremble, and the trembling increased.
“Is it possible?” she murmured, beginning to cry. “So great a happiness for my daughter! Such an honor for us, for us, for us!”
“I love her.”
“Forgive me if happiness makes me forget the conventionalities, but I lose my head. We are so unhappy that our souls are weak against joy. Perhaps I should hide my daughter’s sentiments; but I cannot help telling you that this esteem, this tenderness of which you speak, is felt by her. I discovered it long ago, although she did not tell me. Your request, then, can only be received with joy by mother, as well as daughter.”
This was said brokenly, evidently from an overflowing heart. But all at once her face saddened.
“I must talk to you sincerely,” she said. “You are young, I am not; and my age makes it a duty for me not to yield to any impulse. We are unfortunates, you are one of the happy; you will soon be rich and famous. Is it wise to burden your life with a wife who is in my daughter’s position?”