"But it was your mother who—"
"Yes, I know now; but I did not know that day. Yes, it was mamma. Oh, must I not love mamma to have forgiven her that?"
"She had come to me very early in the morning the day after the very eloquent hand-shake and there, in tears—yes, literally in tears (she was sobbing)—she had appealed to my sense of honor, of delicacy, of integrity. 'You both had,' she said to me, 'yesterday, on seeing each other again after a long absence, a little spasm of emotion. That is all right; but you must stop there, and not prolong this foolishness,' And, just as I was going to protest: 'Oh yes; foolishness!' 'Remember, Marceline's happiness is at stake. You have no right to compromise her. You come back from China all at once, and your abrupt return will break off more sensible, more studied arrangements. M. de Courtalin is thirty-four; he is a man of great knowledge and wisdom. However, I know that that is only a secondary consideration; but love passes away, and money remains, and M. de Courtalin is richer, very much richer, than you. With him Marceline will have quite a grand position. Whereas you, you know how I love you, and I know how worthy you are of being loved. You are charming, charming, charming.' It was your mother who spoke thus."
"I know; I know."
"'Yes, charming; but when I have said that, I have said all. So I will ask you this question, and I expect from you a faithful answer: Have you those solid qualities which alone can make a husband, a true husband? Marceline is a little light-headed, a little frivolous, a little coquettish.' It is always your mother who is speaking."
"I know; I know."
"I was embarrassed, Aunt Louise; it seemed to me that that speech was not without reason. I hadn't a very high idea of myself as a husband, and even now I ask myself—"
"Don't ask yourself anything. Be an affectionate husband, and you will have all the virtues. Nothing simpler, as you see. You can go on."
"Well, your mother was so skilfully persuasive that the day after, at the races, I gave that cold greeting."
"And so I, that same day, on entering the house, threw myself into mamma's arms, exclaiming, 'Yes, I am willing to marry M. de Courtalin!' Ah, how many times between that day and the 16th of May I threw myself into mamma's arms! I did nothing else. Mamma got used to it, and never saw me appear without mechanically opening her arms. 'Yes, I am willing,' and sometimes, 'No, I am not.' But the 'No, I am nots' became fewer and fewer. M. de Courtalin, besides, was perfect; a model of tact, of gentleness, and of resignation. He waited, always in his black frock-coat, always buttoned, with an inexhaustible patience. Mamma was, in short, pledged to Mme. de Courtalin, and I felt the circle tighten round me. The papers announced, in a covert but transparent way, that there was question of an alliance between two families of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and they made it pretty clear that it concerned two important families. I already received vague congratulations, and I dared respond only by vague denials. The morning of the famous 17th of May mamma had said to me, 'Come, my child, don't make a martyr of that poor boy. Since it is to be "yes," for it will be "yes," you know yourself, say "yes" at once.' I had obtained only a miserable respite of twenty-four hours; and things were thus when, still on the 17th of May, mamma and I arrived, a little late (after eleven), at Mme. de Vernieux's, who was giving a ball, a very large ball. I went in, and I had at once the feeling that I must be looking extremely well that evening. They formed into a little hedge along my way, and I heard a little 'oh!' of surprise, and a big 'ah!' of admiration which went straight to my heart. I had had already in society certain successes, but never any as marked as that one. M. de Courtalin came towards me. He wished to engage me for all the waltzes, for all the quadrilles, for the entire evening, for the night, for life. I answered him: 'Later, presently, we will see. I feel a little tired.' The fact was I hadn't the heart to dance. Mamma and I took our seats. A waltz began. Mamma scolded softly: 'Dance with him, my child, I beg.' I didn't listen to her. I was abstractedly looking around the room when suddenly I saw in a corner two eyes fixed, fastened, pinioned on me—two eyes that I well knew, but that I had some difficulty in recognizing, for they were tremendously enlarged by a sort of stupor."