“Oh! there’s no need to talk of that,” said the old lady.
Savinien frowned as he heard the words. He knew the granite will, called Breton obstinacy, that distinguished his mother, and he resolved to know at once her opinion on this delicate matter.
“So,” he went on, “if I loved a young girl,—take for instance your neighbour’s godchild, little Ursula,—would you oppose my marriage?”
“Yes, as long as I live,” she replied; “and after my death you would be responsible for the honor and the blood of the Kergarouets and the Portendueres.”
“Would you let me die of hunger and despair for the chimera of nobility, which has no reality to-day unless it has the lustre of great wealth?”
“You could serve France and put faith in God.”
“Would you postpone my happiness till after your death?”
“It would be horrible if you took it then,—that is all I have to say.”
“Louis XIV. came very near marrying the niece of Mazarin, a parvenu.”
“Mazarin himself opposed it.”