“What is it that you wish me to do, monsieur l’abbe? Do you mean to offer me bad advice? I have not reached the age of thirty-nine, without a stain upon my reputation, thank God! to compromise myself now, even for the empire of the Great Mogul. You and I are of an age when we both know the meaning of words. For an ecclesiastic, you certainly have ideas that are very incongruous. Fie! it is worthy of Faublas!”
“You have read Faublas?”
“No, monsieur l’abbe; I meant to say the Liaisons dangereuses.”
“Ah! that book is infinitely more moral,” said the abbe, laughing. “But you make me out as wicked as a young man of the present day; I only meant—”
“Do you dare to tell me you were not thinking of putting wicked things into my head? Isn’t it perfectly clear? If this young man—who I admit is very good-looking—were to make love to me, he would not think of his cousin. In Paris, I know, good mothers do devote themselves in this way to the happiness and welfare of their children; but we live in the provinces, monsieur l’abbe.”
“Yes, madame.”
“And,” she continued, “I do not want, and Adolphe himself would not want, a hundred millions brought at such a price.”
“Madame, I said nothing about a hundred millions; that temptation might be too great for either of us to withstand. Only, I do think that an honest woman may permit herself, in all honor, certain harmless little coquetries, which are, in fact, part of her social duty and which—”
“Do you think so?”
“Are we not bound, madame, to make ourselves agreeable to each other?—Permit me to blow my nose.—I assure you, madame,” he resumed, “that the young gentleman ogled you through his glass in a more flattering manner than he put on when he looked at me; but I forgive him for doing homage to beauty in preference to old age—”