‘Who flees—she shall pursue;
Who spurns gifts—she shall offer them;
Who loves not—willy-nilly, she shall love.’
Madeleine gave a little sob of joy and flung her arms round Jacques’s neck. Oh, he was right, he was right! Had she not herself feared that immediate success would be bourgeois? ’Twould be breaking every law of galanterie were Sappho to yield without a struggle. It took Céladon twelve stout volumes before he won his Astrée, and, as Jacques had pointed out, Christ Himself, with all the armaments of Heaven at His disposal, does not at once break through the ramparts of a Christian’s heart. But yet ... but yet ... her relationship with Mademoiselle de Scudéry that afternoon could not, with the most elastic poetic licence, be described as that of ‘the nymph that flees, the faun that pursues!’ Also ... she was not made of stuff stern enough to endure repeated rebuffs and disappointments. Already, her nerves were worn to breaking-point. A one-volumed romance was all her fortitude could face.... God grant the course of true love to run smooth from now.
Jacques shortly left her, and she went to bed.
Outside Jacques ran into Madame Troqueville, who said she wished to speak to him. They went into her room.
‘Jacques,’ she began, ‘I am uneasy about Madeleine. I greatly fear things fell not out as she had hoped. Did she tell you aught of what took place?’
‘I think she is somewhat unhappy because they didn’t all call her tu right away ... oh, I had forgotten, she holds it bourgeois to tutoier,’ he answered, smiling. Madame Troqueville smiled a little too.
‘My poor child, she is of so impatient a humour, and expects so much,’ and she sighed. ‘Jacques, tell me about your uncle. Are you of opinion he will make his way in Paris?’ She looked at him searchingly. Her eyes were clear and cold like Madeleine’s.