“You forget, madame, the danger your son is in at this moment; which can, perhaps, be averted only by Monsieur de Portenduere’s desire to please me. If he knew that you had made me these unworthy proposals that danger might not be escaped. Besides, let me tell you, madame, that I shall be far happier in the moderate circumstances to which you allude than I should be in the opulence with which you are trying to dazzle me. For reasons hitherto unknown, but which will yet be made known, Monsieur Minoret, by persecuting me in an odious manner, strengthened the affection that exists between Monsieur de Portenduere and myself—which I can now admit because his mother has blessed it. I will also tell you that this affection, sanctioned and legitimate, is life itself to me. No destiny, however brilliant, however lofty, could make me change. I love without the possibility of changing. It would therefore be a crime if I married a man to whom I could take nothing but a soul that is Savinien’s. But, madame, since you force me to be explicit, I must tell you that even if I did not love Monsieur de Portenduere I could not bring myself to bear the troubles and joys of life in the company of your son. If Monsieur Savinien made debts, you have often paid those of your son. Our characters have neither the similarities nor the differences which enable two persons to live together without bitterness. Perhaps I should not have towards him the forbearance a wife owes to her husband; I should then be a trial to him. Pray cease to think of an alliance of which I count myself quite unworthy, and which I feel I can decline without pain to you; for with the great advantages you name to me, you cannot fail to find some girl of better station, more wealth, and more beauty than mine.”
“Will you swear to me,” said Zelie, “to prevent these young men from taking that journey and fighting that duel?”
“It will be, I foresee, the greatest sacrifice that Monsieur de Portenduere can make to me, but I shall tell him that my bridal crown must have no blood upon it.”
“Well, I thank you, cousin, and I can only hope you will be happy.”
“And I, madame, sincerely wish that you may realize all your expectations for the future of your son.”
These words struck a chill to the heart of the mother, who suddenly remembered the predictions of Ursula’s last dream; she stood still, her small eyes fixed on Ursula’s face, so white, so pure, so beautiful in her mourning dress, for Ursula had risen too to hasten her so-called cousin’s departure.
“Do you believe in dreams?” said Zelie.
“I suffer from them too much not to do so.”
“But if you do—” began Zelie.
“Adieu, madame,” exclaimed Ursula, bowing to Madame Minoret as she heard the abbe’s entering step.