"'What do you think of my future husband?' asked she.
"'I detest him.'
"'Is it because he is to be my husband?'
"'No. He produced this impression at first sight.'
"'And why?'
"'I know not. He is odious to me, although I know nothing against him. He is rich, fashionable, very amiable. And with all that I cannot like him.'
"'I even fear,' added Mathilde, 'that he has nothing human in him. He is a being which appears to me to be utterly without heart, a sort of automaton fabricated by the nineteenth century. With all his knowledge, I am sure that he does not know how to weep, nor suffer, nor to have pity or compassion on the sorrows of others. If he gives alms, it is for ostentation or calculation; but he will not grieve for an unfortunate; he will never sympathize with him nor mingle his tears with his. Our epoch of iron has fashioned men worthy of herself. She has made them of iron, and the blood that courses in their veins is no longer pure, but has grown rusty.'
"'Perhaps you are a little too severe,' said Janus. 'However, it is the same impression that I have formed of him. But love and a wife often transform a man.'
"'A man, yes, but not an automaton. His very look freezes me. This sweet smile, this perpetual gayety which cannot be natural, irritates me. He is always the same,--a being of marble. My God! have pity on me!'
"In saying these words she drew from her hand a ring and put it on one of his fingers.