“I did not say unfortunately; I said ‘Heaven be praised, the gout had put an end to your fickle life.’”
“Then, thank Heaven, my dear; we will not quarrel about it. It is past, and, as the king has granted all, we shall have a pleasant life now.”
“We will soon receive from our son-in-law a yearly pension, which will be paid to me, and I shall spend it.”
The general sighed. “In that case I fear that I shall not get much of it.”
“At any rate, more than I have ever received from your pension.”
“There is but one thing wanting,” replied the general, evasively, “Marie’s consent.”
Madame von Werrig gave a short, gruff laugh, which did not in the least brighten her sullen face. “We will not ask her consent, but command it.”
The general remarked, timidly, shrugging his shoulders, “Marie had a very decided character, and—”
“What do you hesitate to speak out for? What—and—”
“I think she still loves the Conrector Moritz.”