“But if she loves me?” asked Marcel simply, and in so quiet a tone that no suspicion of conceit could be read into his words.
“Ah,” murmured Jean, thinking: “She does not understand the meaning of love. Isabelle Orlandi is marrying her Monsieur Landeau because she loves luxury. Alice Dulaurens is going to marry Monsieur de Marthenay because she is weak and because her mother wants a titled son-in-law under her thumb. Young girls nowadays have no strong affection and nobody to teach them.”
But he did not dare to think aloud. He read on his friend’s broad and intelligent forehead, in his ardent eyes, the patent signs of his love.
“Then you must absolutely have this interview?”
“Absolutely.”
Jean made no further objections. As he was thinking of a plan, Marcel began:
“You are an intimate friend of the Dulaurens family. It would be very simple for you to say a word for me to Mademoiselle Dulaurens. I would not ask you to do that for me if there were anything wrong about it. I would have asked my sister to go, if Paule could go back to La Chênaie—after the refusal.”
He had to swallow his pride in saying this. Raising his head, he went on with a disdainful air.
“This refusal is unjust. Her parents have no right to use their authority just to satisfy their prejudice and selfishness, and to break their daughter’s heart for their own vanity. Nobody has more reverence for their authority than I, when it is exercised wisely and justly. Paule saw her friend at church. She could not speak to her, but she noticed that she was looking pale, languid, and despairing. I must speak to her. There is no treachery in it, no loss of respect for her. You must realise this before answering me.”
“Very well,” said Jean. And after reflecting a second or two he added: