Hand in hand they continued their walk, one listening to the happiness singing within her and the other forgetful of self, and tasting in all its fulness this joy which was not for her.
“You are my sister,” said Paule, “and I love you. Marcel deserves to be happy. He has been so kind to us, I cannot tell you how kind. After my father’s death we lived through some dreadful times. But my brother, though so far away, helped us, with all his strength and resources.”
Alice listened to this praise with conflicting emotions. Paule’s words brought an element of awkwardness into the conversation. Alice thought nothing of money and did not know its importance. But she could not imagine a love story without an appropriate setting. Ignorant of life, she had conceived a wrong idea of the relative importance of vital matters. And how indeed could she have met it in all its truth?
These were but dim and fleeting impressions. Alice did not regret that she had said “Yes.” Marcel loved her, and dear Paule at her side spoke so kindly to her. Feeling the need, however, of reinforcing her courage, she questioned her friend about the future.
“What must we do now?”
“My mother will come to La Chênaie to ask for your hand. You must prepare your mother and father. Your mother adores you and surely wants only to make you happy. And M. Dulaurens will willingly listen to your mother.”
The oak-trees which sheltered the two girls at this moment were so thick of foliage that no light could penetrate them. Alice had become suddenly thoughtful and awoke from her glowing love-dream to that reality whose approach she instinctively dreaded.
“Should I have to go away with ... Marcel?” she asked.
When she was a child she had always called him by his Christian name. Now she scarce dared pronounce the two syllables which seemed to burn her lips.
“Of course, when you are his wife,” said Paule, astonished.