She did not disguise from herself her womanly weakness.
At last Madame Dulaurens burst in like a whirl-wind. She flew to her husband’s assistance. Fearing that by now he might have blundered and said, something stupid, she had come downstairs as quickly as she could. The severity of her rule did not suffice to reassure her, for she scarcely suspected the despotism of it.
In many flattering words she excused herself to Madame Guibert for keeping her waiting. The latter, at the sight of her, had already lost almost all of her modest confidence. What could she expect of a favorable nature from this still beautiful and elegant woman, whose high-pitched voice, so patronising and hard, whose affected politeness scarcely hid the pride and dryness of her soul. At once she felt the difference in their points of view concerning the serious things of life. An abyss separated them, which only youth and love, in their madness, could think of bridging over. She had a secret conviction that all which weighed so heavily on her heart was going to be held as naught, and that all her devotion, her energy, and her toil, the true mark of aristocracy in the human race, would presently be matched against those worldly pretensions of which she thought nothing at Le Maupas and of which she discovered suddenly the disturbing reality. Feeling the weakness of her age and poverty, she implored God’s help.
In the meantime Madame Dulaurens continued to shower compliments and attentions on her visitor and got ready to profit by the shyness which she suspected to find. As she heaped up praise on large families, Madame Guibert saw her opportunity to introduce her request.
“How good you are, Madame, to say so! Yes, my sons have worked splendidly. And I have come to see you about one of them—about Marcel.”
She had no doubt that she gave her to understand that she would never have come to see her without good cause. She praised Alice with tender affection. Her heart inspired her here. “Marcel could not see her without loving her. He remembered that as a child she had said to him in their games, ‘I am so happy with you—I want to stay with you.’ He has requested me to ask you for your dear child’s hand. He promises to make her happy and as to his happiness, you will have assured it for ever.”
Madame Dulaurens, who generally had so much to say, was silent, thinking she would thus increase Madame Guibert’s embarrassment. And M. Dulaurens watched her in order to imitate her. Somewhat disturbed by this silence, Marcel’s mother continued softly:
“You know that we have no money. My son did not think at all about this, because he loves her. My husband left his children more honor than money. But, although so young, Marcel has a brilliant record, which gives assurance of his future.”
And she added in a tone full of dignity, “That is a fortune in itself!”
“We feel exceedingly flattered,” said M. Dulaurens at last. He had been struggling between the fear of wounding good Madame Guibert and that of annoying his wife.